Unbearable - Draco (1 in the Unbearable Series)
by Catharsiss-BridgetteHayden
Summary: An indecent request sends Lucius Malfoy on a plight to help his son. Draco, forced to undergo temporary changes to his body, returns to Hogwarts under the curious refuge of Dumbledore and Severus Snape. When Harry Potter discovers Draco's secret, the school year unravels for everyone involved. WARNING: Slash, Incest, Mentions of Het, Non-con, GENDER ISSUES.
1. Unbearable - Draco

This is part 1 of the Unbearable series.

 **NOTE:** Reader question: Why gender issues? That seems so silly.  
Answer: It's a desire to explore males having to cope with female issues. Some  
of us live experiences that compel us not to take gender for granted, but to  
really look at it. It only seems silly to people who have never had any issues  
with their gender. And if the human brain can accept magical spells and house  
elves named Dobby, it's not such a stretch. My most honest identity has always  
been a combination of both anyway.

Disclaimer #1: JK Rowling is the genius and the God, the books/movies belong to  
her. Fanfiction gets to take credit for everything else.

This story is so NOT nice, it needs an extra disclaimer and gives you a chance  
to turn back. Please look at the warnings carefully.

WARNING: INCEST, MPREG, NON-CON/RAPE, GENDER ISSUES, BAD, BAD, BAD!

Disclaimer #2

We, the imaginary characters in this writer's head, hereby consent to playing  
roles that depict all forms of happiness and unhappiness, peace and violence. We  
are not of age because we have no age. We're just some energy she named after  
her current favorite characters. We are thrilled to act out the most hidden of  
human emotions. May you enjoy our non-physical performance, guilt-free. We exist  
to help you cope with all the freaking rules in your world. We are the costumes  
of pirates, serial killers, witches, and vampires that don't seem to bother you  
on Halloween. We are the raw emotion that needs somewhere to go. Enjoy, and let  
it rip! Oh, and if you cry, you're welcome. You needed that.

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PLEASE DON'T SKIP THE WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMER #2. PROTECT YOUR EMOTIONS. SOME  
PEOPLE ONLY WANT A LITTLE SPICE, OTHERS WANT TO TEST THEIR LIMIT. I WRITE SHARP  
DRAMA, DON'T CUT YOURSELF THEN BLAME ME. TURN BACK! NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART!  
I'm open to intelligent questions if you want to understand why I go so dark. I  
wrote this story to push my own boundaries.

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Draco couldn't feel the cold, but he could see it. It misted on his father's breath, barely visible in the dim. His mother, he realized, had spelled her gorgeous long coat to give her all the warmth she needed. But it was a consuming magic that required maintenance and she needed to save her strength. The way his father was breathing, he needed more air. Overgrown snakes and dark, stolen mansions had a way of running a man through his physical vitality. All of them, his parents and the other Death Eaters, sat somber, while waiting to be called. The former owners of the manor lay quiet and unmoving, piled in a corner, a reminder to everyone how empty their plight had become. Draco, thankfully, was never cold anymore. That's something to be said for fear. It dominated all other sensations.

It took over an hour before Lucius and his son were asked to join the Dark Lord in his confiscated office. Fenrir, leading an entourage of bodyguards currently in service to the Lord, insisted that Narcissa stay seated. She let him know, eyes stabbing, that he wasn't the only one with a dangerous bite. Lucius took her hand for a moment, kissed it, and watched her rage subside.

"We'll be fine, my love."

The time was upon them when no one really believed that anymore. As it was, Draco had seen his father lose so much weight, it alarmed him. Alcohol, and Narcissa's forgiveness, were all that seemed to be holding him together now. Yet still, upon being summoned, the whole family made an effort to appear as a seamless unit. Malfoy Senior shaved and expensively polished, Narcissa poised at the top of her nobility, and Draco, the culmination of their well-bred pride, shone white-haired and golden in a dark suit befitting his pristine good looks.

Escorted through the double doors, which were stalks of preserved timber bolted together with black iron, the Malfoy men waited patiently for all the bodyguards to follow in and the doors to close behind them. Once spaced inside, they spread out, allowing the floor to open between the guests and the Dark Lord who motioned for them to approach.

"Come, come. Let me get a good look at you two. Never a common sight to see a father and son so arrayed in splendor."

Draco followed his father's example and stepped forward. He counted the twelve people standing watch in the room. Behind them, a curtain of blue glass and grillwork allowed sheets of blue light to filter diffusely into the room, which was expansive. It was the study of a civilized family, full of books and lounging couches, and Voldemort looked out of place in it. Mainly, Draco was checking to see where Fenrir was standing. He scared Draco more than anything. Voldemort could only kill you. Fenrir could make you wish you were dead.

Before being invited to sit, Voldemort had the chairs removed and replaced with a cushioned chase. Both father and son took this for a show of favoritism, not worth questioning.

When they were all seated, Voldemort said to Lucius, "I have saved the best for last, Lucius. Now that my administrative matters are sorted, we have time for fun."

"Fun? What do you have in mind?" A nervous tick inserted itself in Lucius's smile.

Draco knew that nervous tick was never good. And neither was Voldemort's use of the word 'fun'.

"The arrogance of your genetics is truly pleasing to behold."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Draco's eyes darted from Voldemort to his father.

"Would you be so kind, Lucius, as to kiss the boy in my presence?"

The question was so blunt, no one could blame Lucius for needing it repeated.

"I'm sorry? A kiss?"

"We all know that you dote on your child. Do you mind indulging a whim of mine?"

Lucius understood that he did not have a choice. But he could not silence his affront as quickly as he would've liked. "My Lord?"

Draco appeared to stop breathing. In his eyes, Lucius saw their wilted panic before Draco lowered them.

"Yes, you know my tastes well, Lucius. The boy is quite virginal. How you've kept him untouched, I don't know. But now is an opportune time to appreciate how you both use your pureblood genetics so differently. A father's coarse and darker, worldly experience, packaged as gloriously as it is, initiating a tender one, made in his own image, is a tantalizing work of art that must be displayed before me."

Lucius was no longer smiling. "But Lord. Isn't that a bit… beneath you? It is not worthy of your genius."

"My genius is knowing, Lucius, that you covet your boy's innocence and will do as I say to keep myself, or better, Fenrir, from harming him."

"I am loyal to you, without fault. You need not test me so."

"Then show me that this test will not break you."

Vicious. Lucius knew those reptilian eyes were not going to show any mercy.

"The longer you hesitate, the more you fill me with doubt."

"He's my son."

"He's a Death Eater now. You know our ways. Everyone contributes. You know what you did to ensure my favor all those years ago. I have not called upon you for some time. Demonstrate your loyalty to me now. "

Lucius knew that another word of protest could cost him dearly. He steeled himself against his own fury. Voldemort would kill Draco. That would be the kindest thing he would do, after punishing Lucius for his hesitation.

Lucius motioned, "Come, Draco. It's okay."

Clearly, Draco's furrowed brow said it wasn't. He looked ill. Lucius knew this show of discomfort was exactly what Voldemort wanted to see. He took his son's arm and gently stirred him to the center of the seat. Voldemort smiled as Draco was pulled stiffly towards his father.

Lucius decided to take as much control over the situation as possible. He set the tone for Draco, touching his hair.

"He's right, Draco. We all contribute. We make a game of pleasure. It isn't real. So we are going to get this over with, like any assignment. You are old enough to realize some things …"

"I'll do it." The words fell out of Draco's mouth. They were, however, not in agreement with the look on his face. He looked at Voldemort while speaking to his father. "I'm not made of glass. He'll kill one of us if I don't."

The monster behind the desk smiled appreciatively. "Gracious boy."

Lucius stuttered. "It's, it's a game, Draco. Power is a precarious thing. Only the greatest wizards can harness their energy."

"Yes, my boy. We are represented by a serpent force because it is a life-giving energy. A sexual energy, and we have mastered it. The same force that can create children, can be contained and used for greater creations. I sit before you now, because my servants owe their stock to me and keep me replenished. In return, I give them sanctuary in my pureblood kingdom. Without the serpent journey, this world could not exist. The serpent is more than a metaphor. It is the force that begets. Every man, woman and child, owes their existence to the very pressure that builds, coils, and unwinds between your legs. It creates worlds. If innocent babes are born from it, who is anyone to deem themselves above it? And if I ask it of you, you will give yours to me, just as your father has agreed to do."

Draco tried to keep very still. Even if he could get past the twelve extra people in the room, he wasn't getting out those massive doors by himself. And even if he could run, he couldn't leave his father.

"And as I participate in your experience, I can make use of it. You are a fountain of uncomprehending energy, Draco. As you bleed distress for me, I collect it and my designs take form more quickly. With the life-force of my servants, I create a better world for us all. All of my Death Eaters comply in this manner. They consider it an honor, Draco."

Draco did not appear to be comforted. Quite the opposite, panic stretched his eyes wide as he looked from his father the thing calling itself a person. His narrow frame had already begun sliding away. Lucius took his arm again.

"It's only a kiss, Draco."

"And a bit more, for a start. We will start you out gently, won't we, Lucious? His heart rate accelerates. There is too much potential in his fear to be wasted. Let's proceed slowly, shall we?"

Mouth tight, Lucius moved to reign in his son's spastic retreat. Draco did not fight outright, but his muscles locked against his father's gentle touch.

"Do you not wish to serve me, Draco? Perhaps it will help to know that even your mother, Dear Narcissa, has complied in this manner."

Instead of having a calming effect, this brought Draco to a wheezing hyperventilation. He wanted to be strong for his father. He wanted to be brave. At war with a body that strained to escape, he tore the words from his throat, "I will serve you. I will do it."

His words were not meant to please Voldemort. They were meant to keep his parents safe. When Draco thought of other torments on the other side of the doors behind them, particularly the likes of Fenrir, he was willing to cooperate. The Dark Lord's mention of his mother was nothing but a transparent threat.

He saw his father's insane composure and took strength from it. What was one more fucking perversion? This was war and he had to get his family out of it. He forced himself to lean into his father. He meant to be the one to start the kiss so that Lucius could escape all blame. But when the moment came, he just couldn't. He couldn't go any further. It was Lucius who had to pull him forward, stroke his hair, and coax his mouth open. Feeling his father's tongue slip into him, caused an involuntary arch of his back. Fight or flight. Draco's muscles responded the way a person responds to drowning. He would've thrashed out of his father's arms, had Lucius not gripped him.

There's a reason why this crossed line is forbidden among all people and all nations the world over. The Dark Lord knew what that reason was. Lucius knew it. And now Draco knew it. This much intrusive power could not be loosened on the common people of the world. Talk of harnessing it meant nothing until Lucius's breath and soul entered Draco. Even in Lucius's restraint, Draco felt the strength of his whole body, in the working's of Lucius's mouth.

His father's efforts insisted that Draco meet him halfway. They pulled Draco from the dark corner where he wanted to hide.

'Don't die on me,' measured tenderness seemed to say as Lucius tried to give Voldemort the show he wanted while protecting his son's sanity at the same time.

"Hold him, Lucius. With desire," Voldemort requested from his voyeuristic perch behind his desk.

Unable to ignore the tremors in Draco's torso, Lucius lifted him closer against him. His hand traveled, large and searching, up Draco's ribs, and over his linen shirt.

Draco could not process his father's actions and all the sensations that came with it. Nor did he want to. His only goal became to hold on while Lucius gave Voldemort what he wanted. This was the man who meant everything to him. Now was not the time to show squeamishness, weakness. Take it, he told himself. But being drawn against his father's body, reminiscent of all the times he'd spied Lucius pulling his mother into him, caused him to resist just a little. He choked on embarrassment he couldn't hide.

"Very good, Draco," Voldemort inserted his pleasure.

Apparently, Draco's torment, was what he wanted. The perverse act that it took to achieve it, was inconsequential.

"Make him enjoy it, Lucius. Persuade him. Young man, your father is an expert at carnal play. Ask any Death Eater here. His talents will not go wasted today."

If Draco knew what this meant, he hid that knowledge from himself. He felt heated wetness in his father's coarse tongue against his neck. It worked its way beneath his jaw.

"Yes, Lucius. The color rises in your son like crimson mercury. His fair skin betrays everything he's feeling. Even tears he does not show. A masterpiece of genetics."

Draco heard the smile in Voldemort's voice.

"Yes, boy. My power is so great, I have a direct connection to your body, through your father's touch. Even your disgust with me, is pure energy that infuses my desire. Lucius, since this is his first time, his first real kiss, I will let him off lightly. His virtue is too exquisite to rush to an end. Let us prolong it. Make him come, and I'll let you both go. I think we'll get more out of him if we give him some time."

Draco shoved at Lucius, aiming his hatred at Voldemort. "You bastard! This is how you torture the people who are loyal to you?"

No sooner than the words were out, Lucius clamped his wide hand over Draco's mouth.

"Now, Draco, our Lord has his reason."

It took some doing to restrain his son. As Voldemort looked on, amused, Lucius managed to wrap his weight around Draco's body, pushing him into stillness.

"Look, this is what we do. Trust me. I'm sorry I never prepared you for this, but I was hoping I would never have to. I need you to be brave, Draco. Do you hear me? I need you to be brave."

Even as Lucius spoke, Draco felt his heated caresses return. He slithered squeamishly around his father's invasive fingers. They flattened over his shirt again, lingering at one of the nubs under his thumb. Draco's mind protected itself, locking his muscles against a different heat expanding from his gut.

This was really happening. Over a dozen people stood in this room, and this was really happening. Lucius tore at him and felt him with the determination to finish it. He whispered to Draco, "I will end this, but you must do your part. Do it fast, Draco."

A barrier in Draco's mind would not let him feel anything more than humiliation, for his father as well as himself.

"I think he needs help, Lucius. Your boy is too brave for his own good."

Another threat. This time, Draco opened his eyes and stared hard in confrontation at Voldemort. He couldn't speak from being too keenly aware of how Lucius pushed over him and held him in place. Just to hear his father's jagged breathing, breathing too intimate, too obscene, twisted in his gut. It told him too much. Told him that Lucius's own body was getting ready to do something a son should not see it do.

Lucius pushed Draco's legs open and settled his weight between them. Draco screamed in dignified silence. No one should feel what his father pressed against him. Even through their clothes, the detail was too much. It was bad enough that their bodies were touching like this, but how could his father be so impossibly firm? Indecent didn't begin to represent what Draco felt. And when Lucius's hand bullied its way between them, Draco couldn't stop himself from pushing it away.

The strength of his father's hand told him that Lucius was willing to break Draco's wrist in order to survive what they had to do.

Voldemort spoke softly. "Let him have it, Draco."

The command, filled with slippery threat, absolved Draco from all responsibility. Tears of tension that Draco hid, now fell.

This was just stress, he told himself. He wasn't a child and he'd do anything to save his family. Anything. Yet, Lucius's fingers making contact with the most tender skin on his body, proved him wrong. The only way he endured it, having that skin pulled and bothered, was by having Lucius hold him down. He wanted to be strong, unaffected. But his spine sent all those familiar signals shooting out through his nervous system. Like it didn't know this was his father. If he knew it, why didn't his body know it?

"It's okay, Draco," Lucius tried to soothe. "Let it happen. This is all he wants."

Only it wasn't, Draco knew. This wasn't just empty sex. That bastard made sure of it. No father and son could do this without killing their fucking souls and that's what Voldemort fucking wanted. He wanted their souls, laid as bare and vulnerable as he could get them.

"Look at me, Draco."

Calm control in Lucius's tone, coaxed Draco away from his building hysteria. Lucius spoke with mastery that extended to the slow manipulations of his hand.

"You are going to survive this. You will be fine. I'm your father and I will protect you. Even from this. Let him have the body. He can't take your mind. He can't take your heart and soul. He can't hurt who you really are. Let him have this meager scrap for his pleasure. He wants to see your soul so badly that he will let me tell you anything to get you to show it. No one can hide who they are when they're coming. They're soul is visible in the convulsions. They are helpless. That's what he wants to see.

"I cannot mince words. He wants to see you ejaculate and he will be satisfied for a while. If it were easy for you he would have no use for you. There is energy in your resistance, in your dignity. But now it's time to finish it. Let it go, Draco. For me."

Strangely comforted by Lucius's integrity, and the rich deep tones in his paternal voice, Draco accepted his father's hand. He accepted the discomfort and the shame, until finally, he accepted something Voldemort could mistake for pleasure. Normal routes to the only, solitary climaxes he had ever known, had to be rerouted as his father's rubbing and pulling short-circuited those areas, never to be used again. Eyes squeezed against the invasive stare of Voldemort, Draco went where his father's intention took him. Reluctant and difficult, his body kicked responsively as his guts churned out the contractions that Voldemort wanted to see. His orgasm was violent, emerging from a storm of conflicts within him. To come through at all, meant he had to give into his father's efforts. He had to let it in, in order to let himself out.

He spilled into the room for so long, under the duress of such wet heat, that he wondered if Voldemort had used a spell to prolong it. His abdomen ground into itself so hard, forcing his muscles into his stomach, that it left him depleted with a touch of nausea.

In his father's arms, he hid his face. Lucius let him.

Voldemort breathed approving sounds, short of applause.

In the silence that followed, Draco was forced to hear himself saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry …" over and over again. He was forced to hear his own sobs, as if his actions were unforgivable.

Voldemort, in silent council with himself, relished everything he saw. The Malfoy boy moved him terribly, and that was a gift to a Dark Lord who otherwise felt nothing from humans.

"I am so pleased with your performance, Draco. You suffer so beautifully. My essence is expanded many times over. This is how your loyalty strengthens me."

He spoke to Lucius, who stroked Draco's temple. "He is a prize, Lucius. He will make a fine candidate for our little experiment. I am elevating his position in my office. He has proven himself worthy of greater responsibility. My greatest spell, the Unbearable, will be put into service. Your son will be the recipient. When we know it works on him, then it will work on Harry Potter. Draco, you will lead me to a feast. If I am sated by your trauma, imagine what Potter's utter ruin will do for my power.

Quiet now, Draco looked to Lucius. "What's he mean?"

"My Lord, the spell is largely unpredictable."

"The spell is intended for one who is too ashamed to bear it. It is formulated for the likes of Draco and Harry. Masculine innocence contorted to its greatest loss."

"Draco has suffered enough."

"For today, perhaps. But not nearly enough. We need him to initiate the weapon that will be extended to Harry Potter."

"You want to change his body just so that he can be violated even more."

"It's only temporary. If he can withstand the spell, then so can Harry. If Harry can endure, then I can consume the essence of his suffering like the elixir that it is. I can drain him and kill him."

"But Draco, you will put Draco at risk in the process. Now, my Lord, I know we are loyal to you. But I beg you, do not subject him to a curse that substitutes his manhood for that of a female, simply to achieve raping Potter's soul. As distasteful as the subject is, Potter doesn't have to be female to achieve that."

"Drinking Potter's soul, not just raping him. You make it sound so common. The female energy behaves inversely to that of a male. He will absorb what is put into him and return it exponentially. And I have no plans to do anything so damnable to your boy, Lucius."

"You don't?"

"No. I'm going to watch as you do it. From what you've just shown me, you are the only one I want to see take your son's virginity. There will be time to bend him over properly, but we will only get one chance to see you break the hymen that I have in store for him. Yes, he will probably go insane, and you may kill yourself, but think of the expansion that awaits me. On the other hand, you and your stock have shown unrivaled strength this day. You may also survive my plans and find your lives restored to its former privacy and dignity. And safety, should you cooperate."

"My Lord, I beg you…"

Draco heard his father's pleas. Heard the futile words that passed between them. But he kept his eyes on the floor, even while his hands mechanically rearranged his clothes and prepared to be escorted from Voldemort's office.

In a kind of shock, he let himself be gently pushed. A hand in the small of his back urged him to follow his father out. He vaguely realized it was Voldemort. In that touch, in the fear in his father's voice, he knew what was coming. The thought of surviving it never occurred to him.

To be continued….

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	2. Temporary - Draco

Lucius did not permit himself to look back at those humiliating moments in Voldemort's office. One had to get on with important matters. He advised Draco never to speak of it. Malfoys do what they must to come out on top in any political climate. This philosophy diluted the memory of what Draco felt like, smelled like, and tasted like. He had no business knowing those things and he wasn't about to let it rob him of his self-worth and confidence. Besides, it was all a distortion of politics gone horribly wrong. Apparently, there were glitches when one split his soul into multiple pieces and tried to escape death.

By the time he could admit that the Dark Lord was nothing but insanity on feet, he could no longer protect his family. Out of options, Lucius's thoughts ran dark and earnest. Would it be more merciful to gently bring the lives of his wife and son to an end, and then his own, than stand idle as the Dark Lord manipulated his loved ones in the worst way? Yes, he was a fool for backing the monster. But Tom was human once, and great, and sane. Twenty years ago, it seemed foolish not to back the strongest wizard he knew. It was business and politics, the two legs of his family's prosperity.

Watching Draco now, through a pane of shatterproof glass, he would now rather have those legs cut off than see the damage done to his son. Voldemort's team of handpicked wizards, specializing in medical magic, were smart enough to have the procedure done over the school break. They were calling it a procedure, and not a curse. Either way, it was a spell inflicted upon Draco and took no less than twelve wizards to cast. It was a very complicated spell, done over days, that left Draco appearing unchanged. Only the higher echelon of Voldemort's Death Eaters knew differently. To Lucius, the change was profound and obvious. He could not look at his son without seeing something akin to an amputation. Overwhelmed by a sense of failure, the only thing that saved him from hanging himself, was the fact that his family still needed him, and that if they could just hold on, they could find their way clear of the foulness infesting the Dark Lord's mind.

The wizards had taken Draco deep into the confines of Death Eaters Headquarters. It was another undisclosed mansion, whose many passages lead to underground facilities. There, Voldemort's wizards perfected weaponized spells and researched their effects. Fearful that Draco would become just another lab rat to Voldemort, Lucius was amazed to get him back in one piece a week later.

"It's only temporary," a crooked nosed wizard assured Lucius and his wife, as he led them to the room where Draco was heavily sedated. "The initial casting to change him, went well. However, his body wants to revert back and that is why he had to endure a battery of compensation spells. We will stay in touch and monitor him until Lord Voldemort releases him from his…obligation."

He thought his son had died under the fixed wands of Voldemort's elite team of wizards. All were magical, medical experts. All were exemplary healers and killers. And all of them were helping Voldemort produce a spell so evil, no enemy would want to be on the wrong side of it. Lucius cringed to think of all that darkness placed upon the shoulders of his innocent son. When they were done with Draco, and he was allowed to see him, he thanked mercy itself that Draco was unconscious. He and Narcissa stood over Draco's bed together for a while before he asked her for a few minutes alone. While she waited outside, Lucius threw aside the sheets covering Draco. He needed to face what he'd done.

Bandages were all that he saw across Draco's hips. They were there, not because Draco had been cut, but to keep him from seeing what he wasn't ready to see. As an extra precaution, his wrists, chest, and ankles were strapped to the bed. The staff claimed to have done this for his own safety. Lucius didn't believe them. But even as he as he stood there, Draco awakened without warning. As if he'd been awake the whole time, only trapped in medicated silence, he began firing an onslaught of curses and threats. At first, Lucius thought they were aimed at him, but Draco spewed them erratically, as if he were speaking to many people all around him. Lucius stepped back as staff wizards came in to restore calm. Then Draco directed his energy at anyone who came near his bed.

Rage blistered Draco's face and neck in splotches of heat spots. Tears clotted his eyes and sweat plastered his hair. He tore at the straps, lashing as far as his screams of "What did you fucking do to me!" would reach. This was the son who, reputed to be a handful where authority figures were concerned, always deferred to his father respectfully and upheld the Malfoy integrity.

Lucius hoped that if he stood there long enough, Draco would see him and come back to his senses. However, when he did appear to get his son's attention, Draco's fury stood taller and aimed a stream of "Fuck you, fuck you!" at Lucius's alarmed expression. He begged Draco to calm down, but could not get Draco to hear him. Draco pulled at his straps so hard the bed jerked with him. Lucius's face became impassive. He was not prepared for the day his son wanted to take a swing at him. Drugged or not, it was a moment of reckoning. He had to get Draco out of here. There was no telling what they'd done to the boy to get their schemes to work. Surely, his precious child was still in there somewhere, hiding from the people who did this to him.

Draco tried to fight his handlers. Lucius winced. Malfoy men used their intellect to dominate other men, not their fists.

"Don't hurt him," he pleaded with the two wizards assigned the task of subduing his son. "Why not use a simple freezing spell? What are you giving him?"

"Your son is under the influence of too many spells at the moment. That accounts for the violent attitude. He's in pain. We don't want to add anything that could react to the work Lord Voldemort's already invested in him. Potions are simpler. You'll have to do this yourself for the next few days."

Narcissa pulled him back out of the room. Within minutes, Draco had quieted. The potion won the battle. Lucius returned to his bedside, shaken, but with a new understanding of where Draco stood in his recovery. Potions would be scheduled for him at home, to stair-step him up to a level of non-violent wakefulness. His critical thinking would be out of the picture for the next few weeks. Lucius interpreted that to mean seeing his son like a zombie until Draco could handle what was done to him.

Now staring at his son's resting body, Lucius grieved. Draco's narrow hips and flat stomach conveyed his adolescent physique. Masculine innocence had never appeared to Lucius so strongly, and so wronged in that moment. Those bandages seared into his mind deep into the evening, until Narcissa was forced to tell him for the n'th time, "Be grateful he's still alive and it's only temporary. It's only temporary".

That had been the promise. But then Lord Voldemort was not known for his promises. What were the promises of insanity, if not more insanity?

In lucid moments, Draco surfaced from his unfocused world, looking as if he couldn't begin to put everything back in order. It was the way he once looked at his fallen tower of blocks. Head down, eyes fixed inward, he invited no one into his thoughts. The grimace on his face told Lucius when he was truly awake behind those glassy eyes.

His recovery involved the Malfoy family being allowed a reprieve in Broughty Scotland. A fifteenth century lakeside estate fit their need for privacy. The location received a fair bit of sun this time of year, and Narcissa convinced her husband that's what was needed. Because of its burgeoning gardens and picturesque waterways, the Blacks had a history of using it for holidays and honeymoons. Narcissa and her sister Bellatrix spent entire summers there with their nanny.

Two wizarding nurses attended Draco in the mornings. Whispers of side effects and complications kept Lucius from entering his room when his nurses were in attendance. Tearful curses coming from the other side of the door let Lucius know that Draco's adjustment was not going as planned.

Narcissa was privileged to more information than he. "It isn't that the spell has gone wrong. He has a lot to learn about his body. He's healthy. He's learning that it takes a lot of carefulness for a woman to maintain her body. A female seventeen year-old would not be ready for it, let alone a boy. It's work."

Draco did not leave the shadows of his bedroom for the first two weeks. At first, his drug induced stupor prevented him from doing anything more than sleeping or staring though a film that kept him disconnected from those around him. Eventually, he knew who was talking to him and what had been done to him. While his parents did not force him to socialize, they insisted he be present at meals. He sat like a well-behaved child before them, eating mechanically when prompted. His meals went unfinished and his opinions unvoiced. His parents knew him well enough to know it was a docile façade. Their real son was struggling to wake up behind Draco's eyes, struggling to accept the world on these new terms.

So the morning dramas were only tantrums, and not the disastrous medical setbacks that poisoned Lucius's imagination. But Draco wouldn't be okay until his body was allowed to be itself. He wanted to point this out to his wife, but he didn't want to worry her. It was grievous enough to be told that Draco's setbacks were due to the chemical confusion imposed upon it. The female illusion would not hold for more than three weeks without sending him into a trial of fevers that brought swelling and pain. And at their worst, convulsions, which always preceded his body returning to normal. During those time, Draco would curl in on himself and sleep through self-medication until he was on the other side of the experience. His parents didn't dare speculate on what that must've been like for him.

Early on, while Draco was still under the influence of calming potions, Narcissa got the grand idea to get some sun on his face. "We're going to make a holiday cake, the kind spelled for us when I was a child."

Such a "cake" was really a giant, sprawling mound of a red bun made from roses and strawberries. Both plants were acquired by transforming Summer Dahlias found in the garden. Having never been required to cook, Narcissa embraced the technique taught to her and her sister, Bellatrix, by their nanny. It was intermediate magic, done just to pacify them on a rainy day. But Narcissa found she had a knack for it. She learned her way around edible flowers, and could make over thirty dishes when she wanted to impress her friends. The cake was always a stunner at dinner parities. Magic preserved the red luster of the berries and flowers so that the braided, buttered pastry outside baked golden-red. Inside, the cake showed off its crimson brilliance, leaving it the prime choice for serving during holidays.

Working beside his mother, Draco numbly wore an apron. He did not show any expression as he did what he was told. But when finished, of his own accord, he offered his father a slice of their accomplishment. "Would you like some, Father?"

This was the most words, and the most clearly, Lucius had heard Draco speak in a while. He smiled, hopeful. "I'd love a piece."

He watched with interest as Draco cut the cake, careful to create a flawless slice and place it on the delicate saucer provided. Lucius calculated his son's intent and measured them against his coordinated movements, unable to conclude how much of this performance was drug-induced and how much was Draco. When Draco brought him the slice, dropping it haphazardly into his lap, after a ceremony of preparing it, Lucius understood the drugs were still dominating Draco's thinking. Draco sat down, seemingly unaware of the cake in his father's lap. Lucius and Narcissa merely looked at one another.

It wasn't until moments later that Draco, uncharacteristically, pushed the serving cart with the cake on it, back into the kitchen. Lucius cleaned the mess off of him and deliberately suppressed his agitation, in the expectation of Draco's return. The sound of shattered glass drew their attention to the doors concealing the other side. Both startled, getting to their feet. Inside the kitchen, they were not entirely surprised to see Draco smashing everything in sight. Red batter dotted the walls, flour hazed the air, and broken glass crunched under his feet. Instead of rushing forward to intervene, he and Narcissa watched Draco lift the remains of his mother's cake above his head and slam it onto the cutting table. As he did, every wood and metal pot shook from its position, causing all cupboards to eject their contents. It was a telekinetic explosion that did not have to be explained to them. Any wizard under the pressure of stress could have such outbursts from objects without touching them, and without meaning to. It was excess energy that didn't know where to go.

The cake lay in obscene chunks, reminiscent of clotted blood. When that wasn't enough, Draco went for the kitchen window, smashing his fist into the little squares of antique glass framed in lead. Only when his hands were good and bloodied, did Narcissa shove at Lucius to stop him.

"That's enough, Draco,"

He and his wife both understood that Draco was waking up. They had to let him have his anger.

Eventually, as spells were invented and reworked to deal with his specific problems, Draco's body adapted to three-day stints as the opposite sex, but could not prolong the effect without risking health issues. It required weeks before it could hold the spell again without seizures. It brought some relief to Draco to know there would be longer breaks from the spell. He didn't know if it would be enough to please Lord Voldemort, but he was past caring. If Voldemort wanted him dead, he would've insisted that Draco be made to endure being female full-time. He didn't. Instead, he'd sent Draco's family on vacation, told them to take as much time as they needed, and accepted that Draco's body could only handle what it could handle. That meant he wanted Draco alive. And no one believed at this point, that it was just to have the pleasure of seeing Lucius disgrace his own name. Voldemort's wizards were working too hard to keep Draco functioning.

Neither Lucius nor Draco confided their identical suspicions to one another. They barely spoke. Draco was too ashamed to meet his father's eye and Lucius felt like he had gone into hiding with a stranger. A damaged stranger. One day, after talking Narcissa into encouraging Draco out of his room, he cornered his son along one of the many stone paths spreading over the grounds.

"Look at me, Draco. You will not lower your head for anyone. You are still my son, regardless of what's been done to you."

He'd hoped to see some sort of relief on Draco's face. But the face Draco showed him, was filled with darkness. Smoldering black hatred, Lucius thought.

"I know you're angry. I know this is my fault. But my one concern is that you get out of this. In order to do that, you must be able to survive what comes next. Don't, for one moment, forget that."

"What makes you think I could?" Draco's rage sounded so out of place, so unfamiliar to Lucius.

"All of us are going to have to live with ourselves when this is over. We are born and bred to survive atrocities. That's what makes us the ruling class. I will not let you suffer this hell alone."

"Would you join me? Would you let him do this to you?"

"If I could persuade him to let me take your place and do the dastardly deed his filthy self, yes. A million times, yes! I would."

"No, you wouldn't. You have no idea what this thing is like. It's too loathsome. It looks like a fucking mutilation. There's all this stuff you have to do to take care of it. It's filthy. It bleeds. It causes your insides to hurt so badly, you can't even get out of the fucking bed."

"Draco, I'm well acquainted with certain female issues. I've only been married to your mother for over two decades."

"Well, I'm not. And I'm not a fucking female!"

"Watch your language. I'm told it has to be complete and functioning. Your body rejected a partial exterior facade."

"I don't care, it's fucking loathsome."

Lucius grabbed him and shoved him against the rising garden wall. Not to hurt him, but to get his attention. "That loathsome part of you is saving the lives of your fucking family! It has fallen to you, to do what I cannot. Very soon, Voldemort is going to command me to do the worst thing I have ever done in my life. And when he does, your current nightmare will seem like a minor discomfort compared to what you feel now. I suggest you forget your squeamishness and come up with the will to not lose your mind."

Lucius saw his son fighting to hold back the tears.

"Can't you just _not_ do it? Stand up to him."

"And abandon your mother to widowhood? And you to whatever fate Voldemort can extract revenge from? No. This way, I'm here to make sure no one else touches you."

"You can't make sure of that."

"No, but I can try. With my last breath. All we have to do is survive this god-forsaken war, and I promise, we will escape his reach." Lucius released him.

It was too much to ask that Draco believe him. So he didn't. Draco simply looked at him with a man's anger behind a boy's eyes, and Lucius let him walk away.

After that confrontation, Lucius decided to pay Hogwarts a visit. Particularly, one Potions Master, Severus Snape.

Voldemort was not letting Draco get out of going back to school. "We need his reports on Harry Potter. Of course, he is to take his time. See that he is accompanied by all the help he needs. Draco is now my star resource within the wall of the school."

Knowing that Voldemort kept a close watch, that even his spies were spied upon, Lucius announced his visit to the school under the pretense of conferring with Dumbledore about Draco's new requirements in the coming year. While he did not reveal the entire truth of the malady befallen Draco, he did possess medical documents stating the need for special accommodations for his son. Dumbledore read over them without challenging him. School regulations concerning students with health issues fully supported Lucius. Draco would not be attending class on schedule and upon his arrival, he would need private quarters and two part-time servants in Malfoy's employ. In order to catch up on his studies, he would be receiving tutors at all hours. He could not be expected follow the same regimen as the other students until he caught up with them. This included showers and meals at separate times. All of this had to be discussed with the headmaster anyway, but Lucius used the opportunity to corner Snape in his classroom afterwards.

As usual, the Potions Master played aloof to Lucius's presence.

"State your business. I'm very busy." Snape hardly looked up from the leather bound notebook he wrote in. And even though classes had not yet started, Lucius supposed he was busy with preparations.

He forgave the dismissive greeting, if one could call it that. He knew what it was about.

 _Don't be so stupid as to think we're going to chit chat. Don't let anything slip. Even the portraits are spying on us._

Most people were put off by Snape. While Lucius didn't agree with him, he understood him. Snape knew how to keep people away from him. That was only a good thing if one had mastered the self-reliance that most people have not. Lucius understood Snape's impatience with unfocussed people. Snape had spent a lifetime studying the effects of his attention on selective reality. In that discipline, he taught himself how to brew what needy people begged for with outstretched hands. At least, he created a convincing illusion of centered indifference to the melodramas around him. But then, he had to, Lucius reasoned.

Lucius smiled, looking around the empty classroom. He had no fondness for its dungeon-gray ambience. Dust, shafting through a single ray of sun behind Snape's desk, might've been the same molting sheet that Lucius left behind in the classrooms of his old school almost thirty years ago. These damp old castles were still dark and unfriendly, no matter how you dressed them up. Dark bottles, meticulously labeled in Latin, French, and English, gave somber decoration to the stone walls. Of course, the grim, solitary nature of all that order suited Severus perfectly. Severus, who seemed to need no one to fuel his purpose in life, did just fine without people. Would he, the childless sot, understand what Lucius needed?

"I need your help, Severus. It's Draco."

Snape stopped writing and gave Lucius a look that told him to say no more.

"I'm well aware of your visit to the headmaster this morning. I assure you, I will be working closely with Madame Pomfrey to make sure Draco's potions do not laps. What the school does not keep stocked will be made available to him."

They held one another's stare. "Thank you, Severus."

"Follow me."

Lucius found himself trailing Snape's robes. He followed the billowing black train into the confines, and privacy, of a potions cupboard. The door closed and locked behind them. Severus turned, hands steepled, and waited for Lucius to make the next move.

"He's losing his mind, Severus. It's too much for him. I don't know what else to do."

"What other potions is he taking?"

Lucius listed them.

"Does he sleep?"

"Not really. We sedate him for that too."

"Is the spell self-perpetuating?"

"Yes, but it becomes less and less. Draco's body fights it. The wizards who created it have to maintain it."

Severus went straight up his ladder to the top shelf. He spelled a hidden compartment into view and produced a key from an unseen location. Unlocking the compartment, he brought down a tiny black vial, innocent in appearance as a lady's perfume flask. Before extending it to Lucius, he drew emphasis to his carefully formed words.

"Three drops. No more. Every two days. Give it to him before he needs it."

 _Before the Dark Lord makes use of him._

"What is it?"

"An opiate. Of the Velvet Willow variety."

"They let you keep this in the school?"

"Suffice it to say that neither of us are here to abide by the law. Besides, the headmaster requested that I keep a little on hand in the event we, or any of our students, are subjected to the worst threats possible."

Lucius did not mistake Snape's true meaning. "A last resort."

"A few drops, and he won't care who touches him. I can protect his mind, I cannot protect his body. This is habit forming and deadly. He will need to be weaned from it as soon as Lord Voldemort releases him from the current spell. Send him directly to me."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you, Severus." Lucius's relief was palpable. He put so much emotion in his gratitude that he embarrassed them both. Severus stepped back, as if Lucius might touch him.

This was not the time to confide that he hadn't been sure if Severus would help him. He still wasn't sure if he could trust Snape. But Draco needed help.

"This is awfully decent of you, Severus. I knew if anyone could possibly understand Draco's circumstance …"

Snape drew himself up and Lucius knew he had to tread carefully. "I just meant, well I know, I swore to you I'd never mention it. What James Potter and his friends did to you …"

"Then. Don't."

"That hack spell, in the hands of ignorant school boys… None of us wanted to think of how you must've suffered. I didn't help you. No one helped you. And now you're looking after Draco as if he's your own."

Snape's face remained unreadable.

"It took twelve masterful wizards fifteen years to work out the complications of that spell. You were butchered by four Gryffindors who left you for dead. Please, let me say thank you!"

Severus maintained his silence and Lucius swore that something in his black eyes shifted. Some tension left.

"No one gave you the help you're giving Draco. No one provided a cushion to get you through it. No one gave you the time the way Draco is being given the time. No one showed you mercy. So I mention it only to say thank you. I, and my whole family, are indebted to you."

"The help I give you is but a morsel. It's not enough to survive on."

"It is more kindness than I have seen from anywhere."

"You must go."

Severus broke eye contact and swept past him, exiting the closet first. He moved so fast, Lucius didn't dare call out to him as he disappeared down the hall.

Lucius returned to his family's extended reprieve in Scotland. That night, still dressed in his day suit, he watched his wife prepare for bed. Waiting until her breathing told him she'd relaxed, he climbed onto the bed beside her and told her about Severus's help.

"Velvet Willow?" Her breath caught.

He thought she'd been drifting off to sleep, barely listening. As if she could ignore a thing like that, he chastised himself.

She sat up. "But that will have an immediate effect. Spaced apart, it will go undetected. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because it is not a safe option."

"It takes two years to cause liver damage. And mere days to cause addiction."

In the dark, he felt her interest prickle.

"Where is it? We must make him take it now."

"Darling, there are ramifications to discuss. I want us to be in clear agreement of what we're about to do."

"Bullocks! We don't know when Lord Voldemort will summon us. Don't you think it's peculiar that we're being given all this time, the extended holiday, the medical care, everything?"

"Voldemort is invested in Draco's outcome."

"No. He's planning something far more atrocious for our son. Worse than what he's said. He wants Draco as healthy as he can be, so that we'll feel our punishment even greater when it's taken from him. All this sunlight and fresh air, he wants to build up our hopes. He has not forgotten for a moment how we've disappointed him. He hasn't forgiven."

Lucius caressed her arm. "I'm just as wary as you."

"Then let's give Draco the serum right now. His mind will be protected from anything done to him. In that condition, we can show him how to approach this matter."

"What do you mean?"

She was already summoning a house elf, requesting tea. The female creature curtsied, then apparated as silently as it had arrived. She rose from the bed, throwing on her dressing gown.

"I've given this a lot of thought. Better to teach him to tame lions than try to avoid having him thrown into their den. It's going to happen. It'll happen on our terms."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm getting my sister. We will need her tonight. Bellatrix has a talent for ̶ "

"Perversions?"

"Crossing boundaries."

"What are you planning?"

"Do as Severus says. Put three drops into Draco's tea. I'll see that he's awake. He's not going to let me anywhere near him without it. You men pursue us, yet you shriek at the thought of those parts you want the most, becoming your own. Quite frankly, it is insulting how put out you and Draco are behaving just because he has those parts. I get it, it's a disgraceful attack, an utter violation, and you're lost without your precious cocks. So it's up to me to show Draco that a vagina is not a fate worse than death."

"I really must object ̶ "

"It's a temporary vagina at that. I'm not going to wait on him to be scarred anymore than he is. If we do it right, by the time you are forced to rape your son, his delicate sensibilities will be shatterproof. With my sister's help, I can prepare him. I can show him that his body is not evil. The females of my line do not lie back and settle. We fight with wisdom and experience. I am not only going to give Draco permission to sleep with my husband, thereby absolving him from a lifetime of ridiculous guilt. I'm going to make sure he knows what a woman's body can do for him. I'm not going to sit crying and wringing my hands."

"We're not teenagers anymore. We can't drag our son into those…gatherings."

"They're called Black Parties. Death Eater orgies."

"They are reckless, and no place for Draco."

"If he's going to be the guest of honor at one, and he is, it is my duty to make sure he's ready for it. If we make him see that under these circumstances, what is reprehensible is permissible, he will survive it."

Narcissa's movements flourished as she let down her hair and brushed it quickly before checking her appearance.

The energy spike with which she had delivered her intentions, left Lucius at a loss. The idea of standing in her way, receded. She was too certain of what she wanted to do. As fraught with holes as her plan was, it was still more than he had at the moment.

"How do we know that this serum will be as effective as all that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding? Bellatrix and I both beat Willow addiction twice before we were twenty. I know exactly what it can do.

As uncomfortable as the thought of his sister-in-law helping with Draco, was, he prepared the tea and swore that he would not let this evening get out of hand. An hour later, Bellatrix, in all her voluptuous darkness, stood dripping her inky aura in the foyer. A tiny woman, her black nest of hair and rictus grinning eyes compensated for any lack in stature. She was swarthy where her sister was gold, electric where Narcissa was reserved, and chaotic where Narcissa could reason. And judging from the way she grinned when Lucius stepped into view, she knew exactly what she was there for.

Narcissa hugged her. "Thank you so much for coming. I know it's out of your way."

"Stop. Nothing could be keep me from my nephew in need." Bellatrix giggled, "Remember our girlhood dreams? How we swore to arm our daughters with the knowledge we ourselves had to earn?"

"I do."

"Alas, I am childless and you went and gave your husband a son against my best advice."

"You know as well as I do, love makes us set aside our own dreams."

"Yes, isn't it just like the Dark Lord to give us another chance?"

Lucius noticed Narcissa's throat constrict, but she nodded. Tendons strained on her neck and the slightest of air squeezed out something resembling agreement.

He watched from the safety of the adjoining room. Whatever they were up to, polite distance seemed only fitting. Bellatrix fastened her devilish eyes on him. Dark lashes swept across him, assessing, as her toothy grin spread.

"Aren't we the proud father," she snickered.

"Hello, Bellatrix." He left it at that. Civilized greetings were wasted on her.

She sauntered across the threshold. "By the time I'm finished with your son, he's gonna want to make the change permanent."

She didn't disappoint. "I do hope that's not the case."

"You'll feel differently once you try it on for size."

He knew from her peels of laughter that his anger was beyond hiding.

"While you are in my presence, would you please not make light of this family's suffering? Narcissa, if you can't control your sister, she's to return to wherever she came from."

"Oh, Lucius, your sense of humor is as dry as your balls." Bellatrix pouted, "Sissy, you said I could have some fun."

Narcissa drew Bellatrix away from Lucius. "The men of this house must be convinced. They are frightened, Bellatrix."

"Pussies!"

"Let us get Draco situated. The sooner we begin, the better."

"Does he know I'm here?"

"I told him you were coming to offer assistance. We gave him the serum an hour ago and it's put him into quite a relaxed state. I could kick myself for not thinking of it sooner."

They headed out of the room. Lucius called to his wife. "What exactly do you plan on doing?"

Bellatrix twisted, "You'll just have to come watch, Daddy."

Narcissa snatched her back around. "We're just going to help him become comfortable with his body. Give us at least an hour before you interrupt us."

"Don't forget." He lowered his voice. "He must remain… intact."

"I know."

Bellatrix squealed.

He let them go.

Lucius downed two glasses of port to chase away his misgivings. He tried to give his wife the hour she'd requested. But agitation would not let him sit still. While he knew Narcissa would never intentionally hurt Draco, he had to question if any of them were thinking clearly? The Dark Lord was running his family into the ground and suddenly it's a good idea to drug his son and invite Bellatrix over to play?

He sufficiently spooked himself into going upstairs and checking on Draco. He slowed his approach towards son's bedroom. Hushed voices needed to be carefully attuned to hearing. A crack in the door told him that it had been deliberately left ajar. Narcissa knew that he would tear it down if he heard anything he didn't like from the other side of it. He had no intention of entering, unsure of his role in whatever questionable events were taking place under his wife's supervision.

The two women chimed soft words of encouragement compared to Draco's lower tones. Lucius could not make out Draco's mumbling, but he heard starts and pauses of something in progress.

He heard Bellatrix say, "I told you, anything at all. Come on, come on. Don't be shy, love."

"That's it, Draco. We'll just tug them down a bit."

"Just take them off."

An intake of breath. Lucius could not tell who it came from.

"Oh, my…" That was definitely Narcissa.

"Oh, Sissy! Look at that. And here I didn't know what we were going to find. "

"Draco, I'm astonished. The wizards bragged of their accomplishment, but I never saw it this close."

"Oh, Draco, it's so pretty. It's prettier than your mother's."

"It's prettier than yours!"

"That's not saying much. Mine's a monsta," Bellatrix growled in fits of laughter.

Lucius raked his hand over his face and told himself that he must not strangle her. If Narcissa's plan was to get Draco acquainted with his body, then the lack of protests coming from Draco might be proof that she was making progress. Unless the boy's silence meant he was too drugged to respond coherently.

"Oh, nephew, you don't know what you've got. But we're going to show you."

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

Strain as he might, Lucius never heard Draco's reply to his mother. The women went full speed ahead. Bellatrix spoke in the gentlest tone he had ever heard from her.

"Then just lay back. Relax in mummy's arms and let auntie take care of you. I'm going to make it all better, Draco."

"Yes, sweetie. There's no shame in this." Narcissa's tone triggered the familiar image of her cradling Draco's head on her shoulder when he was much younger.

Sure enough, when Lucius dared to peak into the room, he saw that Draco lay propped on pillows. His mother curled on the bed beside him, supporting his head just as Lucius imagined it. Bellatrix sat between Draco's raised knees, obscuring the lower half of his body. A T-shirt covered his chest, but his naked thighs and rump confirmed that Bellatrix had relieved him of his sleep shorts and undergarment. The two women remained dressed, but a pair of knickers, casually tossed aside on the coverlet, told Lucius how the boy had been enticed out of his clothing. Obviously, Bellatrix probably, he hoped, had been the one to seal the deal by showing hers first.

If Narcissa had thought of it, the act was not meat to cause arousal, Lucius was sure. It was a display of vulnerability, to get Draco to trust them. To take them seriously. He had a feeling that Narcissa did participate to prove her point. She would not ask Draco to expose himself if she were not willing to put herself in his place. Bellatrix, he could only assume, didn't give a shit one way or another.

He told himself he just wanted to get a look at Draco's face. At his clear and focussed eyes, maybe even hear him speak real words, before leaving him at the mercy of these women. But he couldn't see Draco's face because Draco turned away, suddenly ejecting an unexpected groan into his pillow. The sound startled Lucius, who witnessed Draco's chest lifting and pushing out as his legs twitched and his head fell back. Open-mouthed, he pushed an amazing sound from his body that seemed to wring and twist every muscle in his abdomen.

Narcissa took hold of his frenzied hand as it shook and clinched without direction. Draco's voice hooked in his throat, pitching its timbre out in tremulous and broken gasps.

That sound. That bottomless undulation of dark heat scraped Lucius's guts like steel teeth gorging the earth. The sound of Draco's cry left welts on Lucius's soul. Blood-flooded tissue thickened the extremities of his body until he could feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers. Tightness spiraled to the center of him, wounding spring-loaded tension. He could practically feel what Bellatrix's mouth was doing to Draco by the malformed utterances that tore from Draco's throat. Part of him wanted to slap her away, bundle Draco in his arms, and remove him from this desperate house. The other part wished she'd go easier on him, but not stop. He was sure her methods were too advanced for Draco, who had never been invaded by so much sensation. Narcissa could not hold him still. Both women struggled to keep Draco's legs open. The sounds he heard now, though mixed with helpless abandon, were sobs of ecstasy.

He knew that an inexperienced man in Draco's position, would've spent himself already. The intensity of Bellatrix's tongue and the reaction of his son's shrieking body, would've assured it. But a body with female parts, where was all that energy to go? Lucius saw where it went, diffused into Draco's trembling muscles, spreading up his torso, and squeezing moist whimpers from his throat.

The sight of it, the passion cracking his adolescent voice, brought Lucius to such an uncomfortable swell in his own groin, he could not be angry with himself fore feeling it. Men were not made to ignore this. No one could ignore the fluid when it was on the move. Something transferred down his spine, pooled in ancient want, and drew his full length from him. He was forced to adjust himself and careful to do no more.

His arousal, met with amazement, was too affecting to deny. How could the brain behave as if this were his wife? Sensibilities that would normally object in disgust, were completely eclipsed by endorphins of desire. He ignored the tugging of shame and stepped further into the room. Instead of grabbing Bellatrix by the hair and tossing her like trash, he crept close enough to see where her full lips made contact with Draco. In doing so, he saw more of his son than he had yet to allow.

Pink silk trembled under Bellatrix's tongue. Bare as a shaven coed, Draco's innermost parts presented a triangle of perfection between his hips. Lucius had no idea whose idea it was to shave him, but he thanked them for the visibility that it provided. Draco's pubis yielded as pliably as any woman's. Bellatrix administered to him in a way that demonstrated just how thorough and accurate the wizards were who did this to him.

She dared to disturb, bother, and stretch that concealed area in the shadow of his ribbon-pink skin. She made Lucius want to enter too. He wanted to slip his fingers into the two sets of doors that guarded every woman's nucleus, the epicenter of her power. What lay there, no word had ever been invented to describe with any justice. Nature hid it for a reason. It was a prize that drug weak men to their deaths. And Draco's looked exceptionally appealing.

Bellatrix eyed Lucius from her position, mocking his arousal with her smile. She knew she had him. Never again could he lord his superior civility over her.

He drew himself up, forgiving his lapse in control, and turned away. "Just finish it."

He tried to muster the strength to walk back out when he heard Draco.

"Dad…"

Not, 'Father'. It was clear, interspersed between moans. Lucius turned back to look at him. Narcissa was still doing her best to convince him to lay still.

Bellatrix oozed wickedness. "See? He wants his daddy."

What if Draco was trying to tell him something? What if he wanted them to stop?

He went to Draco's side. The aroma of clean perspiration lifted from Draco's damp scalp. His hair lay white and wet against his temple like baby hair. His face and neck glowed in a feverish undercurrent of racing blood. His mouth could not close.

"What is it, Draco? Do you want them to stop?"

Draco turned glazed yes to him. Nothing coherent sounded, but his teeth came together under the strain of trying to ask for something he wanted.

For a brief moment, Lucius allowed himself to remember what had taken place in Voldemort's office. He remembered pushing the taste of Draco far down into the dark of deliberate forgetting. Too many defenses were up at the time to acknowledge all the wrong aspects of it. But now, Draco's mouth, going slack again, reminded him of surprises there he had not expected.

Narcissa's plea broke his reverie. "Lucius, please. Can you hold him?"

The worst thing he could've done in that moment, was touch Draco even in the most innocent of ways. But she needed help. She was growing tired of chasing his spasms. Lucius gripped his son's forearms and used the weight of his body to relieve Narcissa. She rolled aside, smoothing her crumpled dressing gown.

"Finish it!" Lucius demanded of Bellatrix. She complied by driving spikes of intolerable blades from the tip of her tongue into Draco's core. He stopped breathing to accommodate the shock waves travelling though him. Lucius absorbed Draco's convulsive movements into his own body. The part of him seeking its own release threatened to spill as Draco moved against him. Lucius could not stop himself from diving for Draco's mouth. Pulling his son's lips into his, freed a mountain of urges that could not be satisfied any other way. He ate at the lining inside of Draco's mouth the way Bellatrix feasted below. Draco gagged involuntarily, unpracticed against the onslaught of his father's lust.

Lucius stayed with him, taking all that he could as Draco's body thrust its power out of him. Lucius pinned him for the duration of his release, riding every tremor to slake his own engorgement.

He let go when Draco's body stopped fighting. Catching Narcissa's eye, unspoken need begged her to understand what had to be done in that moment. Expertly, she read his insistent rise above Draco's body for what it was. She positioned herself as Lucius moved into place on top of her. Romance be damned. They had both just done something that defied all rational limitations. They were both people of great dark magic. Energy wanted out of them and it was going to get out one way or another. They both understood that if Lucius did not take his wife, then he would take his son, effectively ruining the Dark Lord's plans. Fully clothed, he drove into her as if Bellatrix were not getting an eye-full.

As if Draco wasn't laying nearly unconscious beside them. It was quick, raw, and left no room for discussion. He rutted and spilled unapologetically, in a way that was rightfully his.

It was a way of having Draco without hurting him.


	3. Approval

Hogwarts started its school year without Draco. In those first two weeks, the Malfoy's were allowed to return to their manor, unaccosted. Draco underwent examinations at the hands of the wizards regulating the spell upon him. The process crippled him with painful swelling and a feverish state that made it necessary to continue taking sedative potions. Mercifully, he learned to detect the transformation coming on, and put himself into a dreamless slumber until the worst was over.

The shock of seeing parts of himself change with the chemical wash of his glands never went away. It remained a source of deep anxiety when he heard his parents mention school. He couldn't return like this. And yet the cruel ending to it all was a subject no longer spoken of. Neither of his parents broached it, and Voldemort had only summoned him once over the summer to appraise how well the spell was working. Behind his grinning, jagged teeth, he left everyone calculating when he would force Lucius upon his son.

Draco, having to disrobe under the scrutiny of those reptilian eyes, was thankful that the Dark Lord never touched him. It seemed to him that Voldemort waited until Draco's mind filled with exactly that dread, before releasing him.

In the space of those few months, Draco learned to be thankful for a lot of things. His flat chest was one of them. He was very grateful that he still appeared as he'd always had. Also, being able to affix the changes to the dates on a calendar, helped him to know when he could function in public and when he could not. On the really bad days, he did not leave the manor. There were days when the threat of returning to Hogwarts had him climbing the walls to invent a solution. Absurd thoughts like seducing his father, filming it with those muggle contraptions, then presenting it to Voldemort, left him seething at the impossibility of it.

If he didn't think Voldemort would hurt his family, he'd have climbed on his father weeks ago. His aunt's visit, crazy as she was, proved how much his family loved him. It proved that his father's touch was the least of his worries.

Out of all of them, if anyone was going to do unspeakable things to him, he preferred that Lucius be the one to do it. In fact, the idea of talking him into it, kept Draco awake at night. He refused to take anymore of the tea his mother made him choke down. It was helpful in the beginning. But it clouded his thinking. Somewhere between the night of his aunt's visit and now, he resolved that the act would take place. And when it did, his memory of it would be the only evidence of the most powerful intimacy he could ever share with his father. After bearing witness to Lucius's passion and knowing him to be the most influential person in Draco's world, Draco could no longer _not_ want Lucius to need him as much as he appeared to need his mother that night.

They hadn't known that he was watching them. Lost to themselves, Lucius rode his wife without removing one stitch of his suit. Somewhere in Draco's psyche, the authority residing there decreed that he wouldn't mind being fucked by a powerful man wearing a suit. And just seconds before witnessing them, Draco's body had suffered the limits of pleasure, weighed down by his father's mass. In that connection, muscle and sinew rubbed Draco behind his father dress shirt. The heat in his chest merged with Draco's and it was like making love. It was the most connective intimacy he'd ever felt. Auntie might've been doing all the work, but to have his father participate so completely, so eagerly, was the ultimate approval. Lucius didn't just love him because Draco was his kid. Lucius chose him, wanted him, needed him. Somehow, the change made it possible for his father to show him an exponential level of acceptance that changed all the rules.

Draco wasn't going to say it was now okay to have female parts because it wasn't. But if it let him open a door to his father's soul, that he could open not other way, then …

He couldn't come to any conclusion. This is what he lay in bed thinking about at night. He closed his eyes to the memory of his father's strength weighing him down. His hand wanted to stray into his underwear but dared not. What used to be there, and what was now there, felt too unbearably different. He was still repulsed by it. But the way Auntie accepted it, and the way his father had seemed to want it, was enough to cause him to pause in his rejection of it. He knew that as a male, he was supposed to think vaginas were prime real estate or something. But he refused to give people the labels that irritated him to no end. Can't a person just want whomever they wanted without having to slap on a tag? Gay or Straight. Those words always made him think of the handicap stickers on muggle vehicles. Just because most people insisted on using those dreadful labels, didn't mean he was going to limit himself to them.

As for shame, where did it figure in? The outside world wouldn't understand. But then, the outside world knew nothing of Death Eaters or being born into an elite wizarding society. Draco had to temper his shame. All of them were ashamed, but it wasn't natural shame. It was no longer the shame of doing something truly wrong. It was the shame of being judged, that's all. Two totally different sources of crap emotions. Neither contributed to life in any valuable way.

Looking at his parent's example, shame had to be dealt with the same way anything unpleasant was dealt with. One flushed it, accepted the stink, and got on with one's life. If others were offended then they were pretending their shit had no odor as well. They were pretending their lives held no challenges to the whole right and wrong propaganda. And if they still held to those conventions, they were not the enlightened peopled Draco wanted in his circle anyway. They were sheep, waiting to be told what their limitations were. Such people would always remain outside of his true life. Them, and the handicap labels they applied to sexual preferences.

This line of thinking was self-defeating. He turned over on his side in an effort to turn his back on the futility of it. He'd already tried getting out of bed once, and looking over the syllabus sent to him by Professor Snape and some of the other teachers. He'd gotten his books weeks ago and attempted the reading assignments outlined for him. But without the daily structure to accompany it, or teachers to speak with, the curriculum felt like an exercise in frustration. Like a lock he couldn't open.

He missed his friends, but ignored their owls for most of the summer. He didn't want to encourage their company and being seen like this. He waited till school had started, knowing Blaise, Pansy, and no one else, would have time to schedule a visit. He let them know he was fine, just incapacitated by a setback. While on school break, a tropical bug had ruined his summer and necessitated recovery in a more moderate climate. It was more or less the story his family agreed upon.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to disappear into black, no-thoughts and come out feeling like his old self by sunrise. Potions could force the chemical gears of his mind to shut down, but they couldn't give him the satisfaction of rest. They couldn't make him like being squeezed into unconsciousness and give his cells the energy and renewal they needed. And if he gave into the temptation of using them, it would be like delaying a reunion with himself.

He'd managed to avoid his medicinal potions for two days and now he felt more awake than he had in a long time. Awake without hurting, unless you could call the frustrating emptiness of not knowing what to do with himself hurting. He looked at the clock. Three a.m. Awake at the wrong hour. Awake for something he couldn't get. Maybe he did need to be back at school. The certainty that it would happen, filled his chest with so much tension, when he let the air out, tears spilled with it.

No one would know, and you need the distraction, his thoughts insisted. You need friends.

He said out loud, "But I don't even know when he's going to kill me. He's going to kill my whole family."

Finally. This thought burst through all the other efforts to suppress it. The changes he'd gone through were significant enough to compete with it, but it still dominated behind all his thoughts. He hadn't realized how much momentum fears gained when you turned your back on them. The certainty that someone he loved, or himself, wouldn't be alive in a few months, took over his whole body. He shook, releasing months of grief for things to come. He knew how the Dark Lord looked at his family. People don't survive that. Either they are destroyed instantly or they are played with.

As if the potions acted as a dam against all that wanted out, now that they were at weak levels in bloodstream, he let his feelings flood from his body. Quite alert and conscious of the sounds he made, the way they reverted back to him in the dark, actually provided some relief. Something inside of him exerted its own pressure, pushing all that unwanted shit out. It felt like throwing up years of poison. And by the time he quieted, he felt better. He felt lighter.

He felt like he had a right to ask for what he wanted. And if it still wanted him too, then so be it. Nobody's arms felt like that. Nobody's urgency felt like that. Yes, it had been terrifying and humiliating in Voldemort's office. But that would've been too much for anybody who wasn't used it, who didn't know what it was. Auntie's visit, shrouded in a drugged influence, had ripped off a hideous mask that made him so uncomfortable, and shown him the real face behind it. It wasn't something he had to fear at all. His mind had created all that fear. He had been a sheep, living in the confines of a label.

Draco couldn't forget the way his father's back and hips moved into his mother's open thighs. Lucius, thick in trunk and haunches, where she was thin and delicate, still lifted her sleekly with each thrust. Draco had to wonder, what must that be like, to have all that power enter her? She got to be the sole receiver. What if…? What if the women were the lucky ones? In that sweat-soaked dance of taking in another's energy and giving it back tenfold, which side of it did he want to be on?

Everything his father had to give, came because it was summoned forth. By her? By Draco, himself? What was this supreme grinding in his gut, that only showed itself under those circumstances? His father must've felt it too. His actions upon his wife shouted that he had. Oh, sure, if Draco only thought of them as mommy and daddy, then it wasn't bearable to watch. But mommy and daddy were people before they became parents. They never stopped being hot-blooded, aching for something more-people.

When you see your mother give up all social morals just to keep you alive, it's time to face reality and let that mommy shit go. Only a great person can chose their authority over what is considered by others to be right. They are sometimes called criminals, scum, heroes, kings, and murderers. But they are not called sheep. They are not called slaves. They are not called victims. They're just people who believe in their own authority over the authority of others.

His family was in trouble. It was time to say good-bye to the mommy-daddy fantasy so carefully structured for him.

He got out of bed, not quite sure if he had the courage to do what he wanted to do. In the dark, his eyes were plenty adjusted, and objects took on shades of gray and blue. He could almost see perfectly. This visibility struck him as encouraging, so he let his bare feet take him outside his room. On the second landing, the manor spread before him like a grandiose artifact from a forgotten time. Velvet wallpaper, relief sculptures, and equestrian carvings honored the lives of his ancestors. At ground level, seventy-foot ceilings allowed windows to tower, climbing alongside the masonry, to let in as much moonlight as possible. Designed and wrought by his forefathers, the stately home allowed moonlight to pave Draco's steps along polished tile and carpet, as if having set the stage for his trek centuries ago.

Wearing only his T-shirt and sleep shorts, he acclimated to the stillness around him and drifted to the open passage leading to his parent's suite. In spite of his upbringing, he did not take his ancestral home for granted. He appreciated that it was a rare place on earth where the generations before him troubled themselves with amassing the most serenely beautiful materials and collections found in the world, into one place. Malfoy money boasted, not of riches necessarily, but of providing one's family with the most eclectic and secure sanctuary that money could buy. Outsiders emphasized the wealth. For Draco, it was merely what one did for one's family.

He especially liked the massive windows, and the many variations of light that a single day could bring. They kept everything washed in natural light. Even shadows, lining the library and sitting rooms, were made more pleasing by the many themes and qualities of light. As a child, he was delighted to run free, hiding and playing with his cousins, in these rooms. But a house this size could turn on you too. He'd seen it happen before, when his grandmother passed. All the cheer and regality of former years turned cold and bleak without anyone to throw parties or laugh in it. It becomes a tomb if you don't know how to keep it filled with gaiety and family.

He enters his parent's bedroom and stands over them. They sleep with their backs to one another. His father is closest to him, closest to the entrance, as is customary for the males in his family. It hearkens back to survival. Draco mused, the tactic afforded them no protection tonight. It couldn't protect them from a son who's lost his mind.

He takes longer than necessary to appreciate his father's sleeping form. For all his lordly-lion quality, Lucius's slumber exposed a vulnerability rarely seen by Draco or anyone. Of course, the wards in the room were only activated by intruders, so Draco was never really susceptible to them. It never occurred to Lucius to put up any protection that would keep Draco out.

Draco stands over him, not knowing how to make what he wants happen. He imagines how it will take place. He sees himself bending down to take his father's mouth, just as Lucius did to him. Startled, Lucius's eyes fly open. He immediately pushes the intruder away. But curiosity causes him to hesitate before using his full strength. In that second, he tastes the heat on Draco's tongue. It is enough to dampen the fight rising within him. It is enough to persuade him to want a little more and a little more, until Lucius has to rise from the bed and seek privacy in the bathroom with his son. Narcissa is left to her dreams while they lose themselves in theirs.

But it doesn't happen that way. Instead, Draco doesn't have the nerve. He doesn't back down, though. He goes to wait in his father's bathroom. His mother has her own set of changing and bathing rooms, so there would be little chance of being discovered. He could've sprawled on one of the black leather sofas presented in the basin area. It was a gentleman's sitting environment, for when Lucius was in no hurry to dress and wanted to have a drink, read a bit of Daily Profit, or do anything but disrupt his relaxation after a shower. His father preferred showers to baths, telling him once that, "Only ladies require being seated before they can perform their business."

Draco knew that he made exceptions for his wife, having innocently walked in on the two sharing Narcissa's spacious tub when he was little. He ignored the sofa for the shower room. Without turning on the lights, his bare feet stepped onto warmed marble tiles. They told him when he'd crossed into the shower room. The smell of tea-tree soap and sandalwood infused into the marble, having been scalded into the stone over decades. It was the signature scent of his father and had him sliding down the tiles that mirrored his reflection. What discomfort the floor caused, the moist scent comforted. There, crouching by one of the two benches installed under rows shower spigots, he remembered what his father's arms and chest felt like against him, what they smelled like.

In that trance state, hours drifted by without him noticing it. By the time the lights lifted and the shower started, Draco found that he had gone unnoticed, crouched as he was alongside the bench.

How single-minded was his father, that he hadn't noticed? Draco mused, he never meant to spy to his degree. But for some reason he wasn't afraid of being caught. In away, he wanted to be caught. Maybe his father's anger still had the power to scare him back to his senses. As he watched Lucius's private routine, he knew he wasn't going back to being intimidated like before. He knew he wasn't leaving this shower without getting an amendment of what had been enacted in his bedroom weeks ago.

The maturity of his father's body, stockier and more stout, heavier and darker than his, only made him more curious. He took it all in, not even glossing over the part when Lucius tended to that pendulous part of himself that no offspring should ever really see. Draco respected it by looking at it as full on as he could through the steam. His own clothes wilted from the moisture and shrank against his body. His hair dripped as if he were the one standing under the spray. He was very proud of himself for somehow not disturbing his father. When Lucius turned off the water and exited, Draco found his voice.

"Dad." The word echoed off the walls.

Lucius's shoulders went square from behind, as if his vertebrae had suddenly fussed. He paused like that. And that second, Draco felt the astonishment ricochet in his observation. Had he just bathed naked in from of his son?

Lucius turned back into the room. His arm lashed out, bringing a robe to him from some hook. Still dripping, he threw it around himself, his mouth becoming a snarl of outrage. Before he could find adequate words to express it, Draco blurted, "I waited for you. I didn't want Mother to hear."

Only the white-lined tension around Lucius's mouth conveyed the force he used to keep violent expletives from leaving his lips. Plastered long hair and blinking comprehension, made the fortitude of tightening his robe that much more defensive.

Anger scraped in his voice. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Draco heard his father's tone command him to stand and account for himself. Assure him he hadn't lost his mind, yet.

Draco took his time unfolding himself from the floor. He pushed up the wall, using it to support his utter disinterest in accounting for anything at the moment. He had some idea of what he must look like, in his wet night clothes. But the secret was out. It wasn't what he looked like that mattered. It was what he felt like.

That look from Lucius could've paralyzed him two weeks ago. Now it challenged him to dare think on that night. Dare he acknowledge those happenings in the light of day, without his medication to excuse the excesses of his mind? Dare he accuse his father of having done anything so far from decency?

"Do it again," Draco invited. "Do what you did the other night."

Something livid flashed across Lucius's face before he crushed it in a hissing whisper. "I did nothing. Nothing that I care to repeat. That was your mother's idea to prepare you for a Death Eater's perverse indoctrination. It is not who I am. It is not who we are. It is political leverage, won by what others perceive as blasphemous. He who crosses that line, fears no evil and fears no law. Its participation ensures secrecy and loyalty. One must prove one's self capable of both. Do you understand this, Draco?"

Words. Empty words. Draco pushed his back against the cooling marble while the length of his body reclined under his father's stare. He held out his arm, displaying his tattoo. "I'm a Death Eater now."

"An untested Death Eater."

"So test me."

Lucius looked at him with all the flat disapproval of being called a liar. But Draco saw it, barely perceptible, as Lucius lowered his eyes a fraction, a split second, before closing in on Draco. He must've seen the invitation of Draco's elongated torso and narrow hips. He must've seen the wet shorts shaping what he knew to be under them. Seen it, and reacted to it.

Draco's shirt twisted in his father's fist as Lucius wrenched him up, standing him on the balls of his feet. "Have you taken your potions?" Impatience quivered in his voice.

Inches from his face, Draco answered, "I haven't taken the tea in days. I wanted to be awake and clear when I came to you. I don't want to miss anything when you touch me like you did the other night.

Eye to eye, Draco judged his father's temper so accurately, that he felt Lucius's violent intent a second before the slap came. Even as it knocked his head to the side, he knew he'd won. His words had surely slapped his father first. Lucius, defeated by the mere calling out of his son, was a sore loser.

"Draco! Our integrity is at stake. Our name, our reputation. We will not toss aside the dignity of our lineage by groveling in base desires. It is better to pay a common whore than - "

"I want you. I was scared before, but now I know this is what I want."

Draco didn't give him a chance to reply. He leapt for Lucius's mouth. He went after it with the same insistence he remembered Lucius laying into him with. He met with stone, as Lucius's jaw and neck tensed to keep himself closed and rigid. For a moment, Lucius's will was the greatest obstacle giving rise to strength that pushed Draco away. Pitted against his father's physical dominance, Draco knew he couldn't win. So he pressed his thinner body into Lucius's, hoping to melt his will with contact as intimate as he could make it.

In that struggle, he discovered what Lucius couldn't hide. His father's concealed erection pushed low into Draco's stomach. Draco let him know that he felt it and wanted it by grinding into him. Lucius tore his mouth away. His grip threatened Draco with real pain. "Stop this disgusting behavior at once."

Draco hooked his fingers into Lucius's hair. "You want me."

"That means nothing."

"I'm old enough to know what I'm doing."

"All the more reason not to do it."

How? How could he break his father's resolve? How could he give him the permission he needed to let himself go? What words could he possibly find?

Angry breath blasted from Lucius's nostrils. Danger threatened behind his eyes. All of it insisted that there was nothing Draco could say.

"We're going to have to do it anyway."

"Not voluntarily."

Fucking hypocrite.

Draco made the boldest move he could make. He reached down and took hold of Lucius. Detail of his father's organ burned into his hand. With enough pressure, in less than a second, he gauged the firmness, shape, and weight of it while he had the chance. Lucius's jaw opened on outrage that lost to Draco's manipulation. Instead of words, his gut emptied a hollow, barreled groan up from its depths. At the same time, he grabbed Draco's arms, clamping fingers around his biceps. Knuckles locked like vices, forcing Draco to let go. But not before Draco pulled as much arousal from him as he could.

Lucius applied cruel pressure. Draco cried out.

Lucius looked at his son with all the malice usually reserved for his enemies. He continued the pressure.

"Okay!" Draco tried to free himself. Lucius's lips bent in his zeal to finally have Draco's attention. He didn't stop until Draco collapsed in tears. He loosened his grip enough to keep Draco from falling.

"Oh, god," Draco gasped, holding his arms. They both knew how badly the bruises would look.

If Draco had wanted to wake up some wicked, lawless, aspect of his father, he had succeeded. But Lucius was in charge, and that, more than anything, was what he wanted Draco to know.

"You will not disobey me, Draco. You are not ready to cross that line with me. My wife is the only woman I make love to. When it comes to men, I do something very different to them. You are not ready for that."

Now, in defeat, embarrassment scaled Draco's cheeks in hot color. He fought it. He willed his final words to justify his actions. This rejection was too much.

"You accepted me. You accepted this body. You wanted it. It meant everything that you wanted it. You made me feel like I'm not hideous. You made me feel like I'm not that bad. I just wanted you to touch me like that again. I wanted you to look at me like I'm still worth something to you, and not this pathetic thing. You weren't disgusted by me. For once, you looked at me like I was something good."

When he couldn't get anymore words out, he thought he would end up a heap of wet rags on the tiles. Lucius, he knew, didn't have patience with crying things, even if they were related to him.

Instead of releasing him, the hands holding him softened. Draco felt the gentlest brush of a kiss at his temple. Then his cheek. Then his jaw. His neck. And, oh god, his lips. Full, mouth on mouth.

There it was. What strength lay beneath the subterfuge of tender lips? It was like the muscles, even the stubble in his father's face, were orchestrating how much of himself to reveal through the closed-lipped kiss.

As Draco dared to open his mouth, sobs in his chest begged Lucius to enter. Eyes closed against the harsh light of reality, there seemed to be a pause before Lucius slipped himself, slick and hot, into Draco's mouth. Draco's body jerked to life. He didn't know if this was permission or just a pity gesture, but it plugged him into his father's powerful vitality and he greedily accepted.

Lucius's generosity inflamed Draco's mouth. He filled him, Draco knew, to compensate for what he could not actually give him. In that connection, need twisted Draco's hands into fistfuls of his father's robe.

When Lucius pulled his mouth away, Draco wanted to cry for a different reason. He never got the chance as Lucius backed him against the wall. Gut to gut, Lucius did not allow space between them. He move so quickly into the gap between Draco's legs, Draco forgot about everything else.

Lucius took him by the jaw and turned his head away, blasting him with heated breath and his lowered voice. "How dare you not see that my first choice is you, regardless of what's between your legs."

Lucius, thrusting up with his pelvis, lifted the trunk of Draco's body, driving all reason out of Draco. He did it again to prove his point.

"How dare you doubt the bond between us." He spoke through clinched teeth, spraying Draco's ear.

Another thrust. "How dare you force me to this beastly display of affection."

He sounded angry. He felt angry against Draco. But what he pushed into Draco's pelvis, felt like bliss. Something burst into Draco from the point of his father's contact. It rolled into him, pulling his abdomen down in an undertow of pressures that rolled invisibly back up his body.

Draco's shorts and shirt between them, mattered very little. He could feel so much of his father that he was grateful his clothing offered some resistance. It would've been over too soon, otherwise. He was helpless between the wall and his father. He knew this for the gift it was, and prayed for it to last. He curled at the feel of Lucius's hand sliding under his shirt.

"This is only going to happen once, of our free will. For your safety, I will not penetrate you. And you will not ask this of me again. I will show you that I am not above doing anything for my son. Anything."

Lucius was careful not to promise Draco too much. Even he didn't know entirely where his indulgence would take them. He only knew where it could not go.

It wasn't such a stretch to find Draco desirable. In fact, it was impossible not to be aware that Draco was as much someone's idea of a preferred fetish as he himself had been. He knew what women saw in him, he knew what men saw. Draco's characteristics lent him to being the male version of an angelic, teenage vixen, without the confidence. The change to his body only brought that fantasy closer to reality. Had he not seen the craftsmanship so exquisitely wrought between Draco's legs, he would've been happy to suppress these thoughts forever. But he had seen it. And Draco's trembling psyche needed his father's approval. It wasn't the first time his son's tantrum disrupted business.

It was easier for Lucius to give Draco this exclusive attention in the hopes of getting on with matters, than listen to him cry himself sick. Especially after having heard Draco accuse him of not valuing him. Draco was his empire. If raising him, teaching him, and living life alongside of him wasn't enough to demonstrate that, then, in light of Voldemort's plans, Lucius believed himself capable of demonstrating a bit more.

He all but said, "Daddy loves you, Draco," as he buried himself in Draco's neck. To be fair, it wasn't pity that had his cock straining to be free. It wasn't pity that allowed Draco's hand to wedge between them, insisting on knowing him thoroughly. It wasn't pity that allowed Draco to free him, pull and lead him against Draco's thin shorts, the only barrier between them.

Draco almost knew how to hold another man's cock. He certainly figured out how to wedge the head against himself for optimum contact. Almost. He angled it as far as his shorts would let it sink in, and Lucius could still tell that he hadn't found the exact spot. The spot. Did he even know he had one? Lucius discerned every yielding mound as he let Draco use him to massage the recess he could barely comprehend. Lucius tolerated it until he had to snatch Draco's hands away.

This elicited whining protests that Lucius abruptly silenced by raising Draco's shirt and engulfing the adolescent pecs he found there, in his mouth. Draco's knees gave way and his legs clamped against the charge his father's tongue ignited. Lucius knew that the raised tissue of a person's nipple, was directly wired to the brain's mechanism for producing an orgasm. By the sounds bursting from Draco's body, Draco did not.

He told himself, all he wanted was to get Draco off, and get him away from his cock. Draco's hands kept finding their way back to him. He wondered if he shouldn't spend himself in Draco's hand, just to end the chase. Draco would see this last forbidden thing, as he seemed to want to do.

But Draco surprised him. He caught Lucius's hand and pulled it deep into the triangular crevice of his shorts. Their eyes locked in granite hardness, and Lucius felt his cock solidify into a railroad spike, so pronounced was the leap in arousal. Urged by Draco, his fingers knew the intimacy of every surface it encountered. His fingers slipped into Draco's buttery softness and read him like braille. He could practically taste the hairless folds that Draco pushed against his fingers. Advantaged as he was, he knew that only a few minute gestures would end this. All he had to do was slip one finger a millimeter over the hooded pearl hiding within.

He stopped his hand. Draco thrashed in objection, his spine lifting off the wall. As if he needed to prove something to his father, he sank to his knees, wrestled with Lucius's withholding, and tried to put the organ into his mouth. Lucius denied him, pulling out of his grasp.

He couldn't let Draco do that. As far as he was concerned, Draco was still quite innocent. And the predictable, inevitable, sight of seeing that, was the most basic debauchery he could defile anyone with. He wasn't ready to see his fluid on his son's face. It would take years to drown that shame, if he ever was able to do so.

But he could do one better. Draco's body afforded him a certain amount of dignity.

Determined to give Draco proof of something he had no words for, he pulled Draco to his feet, kicked his legs wider, and dropped to his own knees. He used his robe to keep the tile from biting into his joints. Pressing Draco's thigh's still, he dove into the cloth of shorts tucked there. His mouth shoveled the fabric into it and all that lay beneath. Reflexively, Draco fought the intrusion and collapsed around it at the same time. His hands pushed his father's head away while his muscles held him in place. Dry heaves replaced any coherent sound. They rose from Draco, as deceptive as his contorted expression. At one point, he even tried to escape Lucius's punishing expertise by pulling his hips away. Lucius merely wrapped his arms behind Draco's thighs and pulled him further into his grip. His tongue spun Draco into seizures that may not have been practical against a marble wall.

When he was sure that Draco had no concussion, he brought his son into his arms and finished himself discreetly against him. This, more than anything, seemed to be the prize that Draco wanted. The way his arms clung to his father, the way he said, "Thank you," twice, and pressed his tender, white head against Lucius's chest, told him as much.

So this had to be theirs. It was an act that pitted them against all comprehension, so they took shelter in it. Lucius could've told Draco stories of sordid family history, which included murders, rapes, and injustices of every kind, if he had wanted Draco to know this wasn't the worst thing a father and son could do. No doubt the ghosts of the house were feigning outrage, as if their lives had been so innocent. They would've seen everything, and Lucius believed in his heart that one day, every secret would be known to everyone. All faults laid bare. A house like this did not rise out of goodness and fairness and decency. It stood on the blood of those who collapsed beneath it. And when the day came that all would know what transpired between him and his son, all they were going to see was his utter devotion to his child, as desperate as it might be.

Draco joined his classmates in November. He slipped as inconspicuously as he could into a curriculum that included the gossip and glares from teachers and peers alike. He did his best to catch up, in separate quarters and with the help of tutors in his father's employ. Thankfully, he was physically well enough to do without the servants his father had arranged to attend him. He kept to himself mostly, reuniting with his friends when schedules allowed. It was a bit like adjusting to cold water. He couldn't dive right into socializing. His smiles were infrequent and his laughter even rarer. His confidence had not come back with him and others noticed it. Being a jerk, even jokingly, no longer came easy.

Introspection kept him looking inward. When he did take lunch with his friends, they caught him, hand under chin, staring at some internal thought vastly more interesting than anything they had to offer. Blaise wanted to know, outright, "What the hell happened to you? You're so different."

He learned to say, "Monotricoma is a bitch. I've never been that sick in my life, I nearly died. I'm just not one hundred percent yet, mate."

They all seemed to accept it. It smoothed the rest of the conversation and got them off his case. But there was always one person who stared, disbelieving, at him. One person, sitting two tables away, wearing his stupid Gryffindor colors, his stupid glasses, and sitting with his stupid friends. Harry Potter. He had a way of looking through Draco, ready to call him a liar at any moment. Looking at him as intently as Voldemort ever did, promising to catch him in lies he hadn't even told yet. Draco always gave him the sneer he deserved, modeled directly after his father's brand of superiority. Harry, after all, was why Voldemort did this to him. Precious fucking Potter.

He tried to take some comfort in knowing what the Dark Lord had planned for Harry. At least his own body would return to normal one day. At least he had his father's love. Harry wasn't even going to survive what this spell would do to him. That should've felt good. It should've, but it didn't. When he surfaced from his thoughts, he saw Harry turn away.


	4. Stalker

He was up to something. That much Harry knew for sure. Why else would Draco wait till after midnight to use the student baths? It happened like clockwork. He was never sitting with the Slytherins at breakfast or lunch, but he'd appear for dinner, only to slink off again. And he wasn't in their common room kicking about with the rest of them. Harry knew because he'd snuck in using his invisibility cloak three times since Malfoy's return to school. No way Malfoy was spending all that time studying. And nights like this, where Malfoy deliberately waited till everyone was in bed before hooding up and trekking to the baths, reeked of sneakiness. It made sense that he wore his hood to keep anyone from noticing all that fucking bright hair. In moonlight, it fucking glowed in the dark, of course he had to hide it. The jerk was probably too proud to shorn it off, just like his father.

This inner rant is what kept Harry Potter going. He stayed a good distance behind Draco as he followed him under the archways leading to the bowels of the castle. His invisibility cloak afforded him the confidence of going unseen. But he didn't want to get too cocky. His focus on Draco's  
dark intentions was the only thing keeping him careful. He needed the uneasiness to drive him. With Ron poisoned, Pansy cursed, and Dumbledore gone, it was imperative that he watch Draco's every move. No one felt the darkness surrounding him like Harry. And that cheap shot of breaking Harry's nose and leaving him on the train last term, definitely required some payback.

He waited in the shadows till Draco filled the bath. Amusement at Draco leaving his shorts on, was becoming commonplace. Even shy people took their shorts off in the water. There weren't even people around. No telling what was in his damaged brain. The sight of Draco's wand laying carelessly on his folded clothes, gave Harry an idea. He passed invisibly, right by Draco and slipped the wand in his cloak. When Draco had dunked himself and gotten completely immersed in his actions, Harry shook off the cloak and made his presence known.

Draco wasn't even washing, he was just sitting there letting the water run down his face. "Enjoying a midnight bath, are we?"

Draco jumped. The surprised look on his face was worth a million galleons. Harry followed his panicked eyes to his clothes, to the missing wand.

"Don't worry. I didn't come here to start anything."

"Then why are you here? Where's my wand?"

"I wanna know what you're up to. Students have been attacked. What're you sneaking around at night for? Just to take baths?"

"That's exactly what I happen to be doing. It doesn't give you the right to spy on me."

"Somebody's has to keep a check on you."

"You appointed yourself that task, have you?"

"Look, Malfoy. It just looks suspicious, you sneaking around in here."

"If you'd mind your own business, you wouldn't have to worry yourself about what it looks like, Potter. Now give me my wand back."

"I'll give you your stupid wand, but you have to promise you won't try anything."

Draco's face darkened, waiting. The look told Harry he was anticipating some kind of chivalrous stupidity on Harry's part. It made Harry change his mind. Instead of handing the wand to Draco, Harry placed it five feet out of his reach. "On second thought, get it yourself."

Alarm sobered Draco's expression. His sneer dissolved into something far more disadvantageous. "Fuck you."

If it had been a spell, it would've been the Cruciatus, flung so violently from Draco's lips. Something about the force of it, something about Draco's trembling lips and the water standing in his eyes, made Harry realize how irrationally afraid Draco appeared to be.

Harry backed away from the wand. "I'm going to give you five seconds to get your wand, or it's mine."

"Fuck you. You can't take my wand."

Draco's repetitive cursing told Harry how helpless he was feeling at the moment. If Draco could've thought of anything more effective, he would've. Harry almost felt sorry for him.

"One."

Draco shook his head. "People think I'm the bully. You're the asshole, Harry. All you have to do is leave me to my business."

"Two."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why won't you get out of the water?"

"Fuck you."

"Three."

This magic number produced a sob from Draco. "Just leave me."

"No need to cry, Malfoy. Just get your wand. I'm not going to do anything to you."

"I don't trust you."

"Four."

Draco sprung into action. He pulled himself up, stretching across the floor in time to grasp the hilt of his wand. Harry's foot came down on it. "Five."

"You bastard!"

"Why'd you take so long getting out of the water?"

"It's mine, Potter."

"I won it."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why are you acting so strange?"

"I won't let you take it."

"Then why are you crying, Malfoy? You're acting like I'm killing you. We both know, you would've used the Cruciatus on me three times by now if you could've."

Draco's knuckles turned white as his fingers fought to keep his grip on his wand. Harry bent with zeal and watched his face turn ashen as he pulled it effortlessly from Draco's wet fingers.

Draco, seeing it slip away, seeing it leaving him, plunged the last of his hatred for Harry into it. The wand translated his anger into deadly intention that fired into Harry's arm, lighting his veins blue with ultraviolet pain. He dropped not only Draco's wand but his own, unable to control the crippling charge that twisted his limb into stiff paralysis.

Draco leapt at the opportunity to grab his wand. The Cruciatus was on the tip of his tongue, but his humiliation demanded something far more satisfying. He punched Harry. It was unpracticed and awkward, but he relished the return of his power. Off balance, Harry cradled his arm and fell to his knees. Draco rushed to kick his face, aimed just to see his glasses go flying.

He hissed at Harry, "It's amazing what a split second can do, four-eyes."

Even as he spoke, he anticipated the punch in the gut he wanted to give Harry. An old-fashioned beating, not that he'd ever given one, would've been just the right thing. Then the Cruciatus, just to top things off.

But even one-armed and blinded, Harry got his arm around Draco's ankle and pulled. Draco fell. Back on the tiles they wrestled for the one wand in sight. Harry pulled the tip and Draco held onto the hilt. The crack that followed, had Draco's teeth exposed in fury. He held one half of his wand and Harry the other half. Harry looked just as shocked as him. "I'm sorry."

Like a man with no other option, Draco grabbed Harry's throat and squeezed. Strangling someone was a crime of strength. He had no idea if he could really kill Potter this way, but he was going to try. Harry's punches hurt, but next to Draco's anger, be barely felt them.

Harry rolled the both of them to one side. Strength in his left arm was returning, but the right side of his body directed his movements. All of his weight, and Draco's, went right, plunging over the side of the bath and into the water.

Draco's hands did not leave Harry's throat. A stream of blind, water-heavy punches, were all the defense Harry had available to him, all while trying not to asphyxiate but desperate to breathe at the same time. His upper body strength won out, allowing his head to rise above the water level while his body thrashed with Draco's below. Choking, he knew that if he didn't end this, he was going to drown. Frenzied, he lashed at Draco in every undignified way available to him, even kicking and clawing.

He reached for the most vulnerable place he could think of on Draco's body. Grip and pull. That was the old stand-by that should've ended everything. But when he twisted a fistful of shorts, both of them let go. They jerked so far away from each other, a whirlpool was left spinning between them.

Shock gave Harry a moment to catch his breath. It let Draco recoil to the far side of the bath. In his dripping panic, he didn't seem to realize that he could simply run. Harry had never seen such alarm pasted on Draco's face before.

He asked, "What's wrong with you?"

The question was filled with as much fascination as horror. In that moment, regardless of what answer Draco gave, he did feel sorry for him.

Draco spat, "Nothing's wrong with me."

His wild eyes tore away, escaping Harry. His body twisted to pull himself up on the tile. Harry accio'd his wand in the same second Draco pulled his torso out of the water. He pushed up, but only had time for one step as Harry hit him with an immobility curse. Not as strong as Pretrificus Totalus, it allowed Draco the range of moving his limbs weakly. But he could not protect himself and slid back under the water. Harry quickly closed the distance and pulled Draco up. Draco was thinner and lighter than he would've imagined his long frame to be. Like a hunter bagging his kill, Harry clamped his arm around Draco's chest and lifted him using the steps beneath the water. He dumped Draco on the tiles. Dripping over him, he was unsure of what to do next.

He did ask himself, what was he about to do and why? He needed to be very clear on that. If Draco was hiding something, and he was, now was his only chance to find out. He raised his wand.

"I'm giving you one more chance, Malfoy. What're you up to down here? And what's wrong with you?"

As far as he knew, Draco was a normal male four years ago, when they were still young enough that Sytherins and Gryffindors could still stomach showers in the same changing room.

Again, Draco's chin trembled with irrational fear. Harry used it to his advantage. "Did you think I'd forget about that kick to my face?"

Draco's eyes widened and his fists managed to curl down over his body, but that sneer never left his face.

"Voldemort's in my head, Ron's been poisoned, and Pansy cursed. Here you are sneaking around every night because you're supposed to be too sick to live like a normal person during daylight hours. But I know it's just a matter of time before you get away with something else. What the hell's going on with you, Malfoy? Tell me or I'll use the Cruciatus."

Harry had used the milder curse for limited movement so that Draco could answer his questions. But when Draco looked at him, water seeping from his eyes, and told him, "Go to hell, Potter!" Harry gave into his anger.

"You're the one who's going to be in hell, Malfoy." The stupid git should've known who was holding a wand and who wasn't. "Let's just find out what's going on with you, then."

Draco must've seen something in Harry's face. Unyielding, he looked like a person about to be punched. But his balled fists moved with apparent, tremendous effort, to his shorts. The action underscored his vulnerability and guilt flared in Harry.

"I'm not a perv, Malfoy. I gave you a chance."

Both locked onto each other's thoughts. Both knew what Harry was going to do before he even pulled on the waistband of Draco's shorts. Draco put up enough resistance that Harry regretted not using a stronger curse. The fact that Draco could still fight him, undermined his confidence in using a more cruel and stronger curse. But Draco's struggle was weak and Harry knew he was going to win this one.

Black elastic came out of Malfoy's feeble grip. Harry pulled it down, hesitating. The way it came off of Draco's hip bone, crossing the pale ridge of naked skin that generally people did not show, made Harry force his courage. Embarrassment threatened to keep him from doing it, like maybe, even if this was Draco, it was still wrong. It was wrong to do this to anyone. But Draco's a monster. If he didn't find out what he was up to, someone was going to get hurt.

He thought of ripping the shorts down quickly, like pulling off a muggle band-aid, but Draco was making this face. This horrible crying face. Harry couldn't believe it when he started to sob so hard, no sound was coming out and his body shook like Harry was fucking killing him.

"I didn't act like this when you fucking bashed my face in." Not even when I could move, he remembered. He'd been under the full binding spell. He yanked the shorts down.

He half expected to see the smallest penis in the world. Surely, that's what Draco's fuss was about. But that didn't add up to what he knew, after a history of locker room showers. And it didn't add up to what he felt not five minutes ago. He should've covered Draco up right away. He should've acted like it was nothing, once he saw that it was _something_. Every instinct in his body told him he may have just fucked up. And he was only making it worse by not being able to look away.

Later, he would wonder if he took his time because he wanted Draco utterly humiliated, or if he was just in shock. After a moment, he snapped out of it and yanked Draco's shorts back over him. But he still had to listen to those god-awful sobs. Was there a spell for making someone stop crying?

He made himself wait it out, every excruciating second, because he had to understand.

When Draco saw that Harry wasn't going to touch him more than that, and wasn't going to do anything else to him, he got control of himself. All that was left of his rage, were small, defeated whimpers that kept him looking at Harry like he could lose his life at any moment.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Malfoy. Looks like somebody already did that."

Draco choked on bitter tears.

"Look, I'll let you go if you tell me who did this to you and why? I know you weren't like this three years ago. There's books on these sorts of curses. Hermoine's seen them. I didn't believe her, not really, until now. So spill."

Harry must've forgot who he was dealing with. Even through whatever dehumanizing shame Draco was feeling, he flung the words, "I don't have to tell you shit," with such force, harry became angry all over again.

"You idiot. I'm trying to have compassion. I'm trying to feel fucking sorry for you." Didn't he know that Harry had this battle good and won? Didn't he know when he was defeated?

"If you don't tell me, I'll tell everyone in the school what you don't have."

"Yeah? Well that'll make you the perv going around making comments about another guy's dick."

Harry balled his fist. How could anyone be so obviously afraid and still keep running off at the mouth? His arm shot out and he grabbed Draco's crotch, squeezing. "Yeah, well at least I have one."

"Get your filthy hands off me, Potter."

"WHAT are you two doing?"

The familiar barritone drawl shook both of them to attention. Professor Snape stood in the entrance, his scowl working overtime.

Harry jumped to his feet, leaving Malfoy on the floor. A squinting assessment had Snape freeing Draco with the counter curse to restore full movement. He demanded Harry's wand.

"I didn't hurt him, Professor."

"And I didn't ask if you hurt him. I said hand me your wand."

Reluctantly, Harry did.

Draco rose stiffly. Whatever Snape deduced from looking at him, he kept to himself.

"What happened, Draco?"

"This idiot attacked me. He broke my wand."

Snape shifted his eyes to Harry. "Is this true?"

"I defended myself. He's just mad that I disarmed him."

"Before this turns into a tennis match, Mr. Potter, can one of you tell me why you're both in here?"

"I was bathing."

"I needed to talk to him. He can't be found during normal hours."

"I see. So you've no other recourse than to invade his privacy?"

"This bath is open to all students. I have just as much right to be here as he does."

"One hundred points from Gryffindor. While, Mr. Potter, you are correct that this bath is for all students, you are incorrect to assume that student baths may be partaken at all hours of the night. Due to personal issues of health, Draco has pre-arranged, with the Headmaster, to bathe outside of school hours. You, on the other hand, have not."

Harry didn't have a reply. Desperate, he blurted, "Something's wrong with Malfoy. Something's wrong with his body."

This revelation produced the opposite effect it was intended to have. Any normal teacher would've hooked Draco into their immediate observation and gotten to the bottom of that accusation. But Snape looked at Harry as if he were a full grown man issuing threats.

Snape stepped up to Harry. A teacher's rank pitted against a schoolboy's subordination, was suddenly rendered irrelevant. Harry twitched in an effort to stand his ground. His neck angled uncomfortably to look up at Snape, who moved so close, Harry had to take a step back. Snape looked like he wanted to strike Harry. That kind of anger, staring him down, felt just as irrational as Draco's fear.

Snape's words to Harry were as precise, potent, and labored as any potion brewed under his methodical focus. "The state of Mr. Malfoy's body is absolutely. None. Of your. Business. He is under my protection and you are not to touch him, go near him, or stalk him. Do you understand me?"

"You're taking his side. Dumbledore would want to know."

"I'm protecting a student from harassment. Look at yourself, Potter. Draco is unarmed, you're both wet. He's is half-naked and he has far more bruises than you do. With a strategically written report, I could have you expelled from the school this very night. I can go directly to the ministry concerning a student's welfare if I feel that Dumbledore's assessment is inadequate to keep Draco safe. Tell me, Potter, what were you doing to him when I entered the room?"

Harry's throat closed. There were lots of things he could've said in his defense, but they were all stuck there. The fact that Snape obviously knew the answer to his own question, made it impossible to speak.

"I thought as much. Return to your room at once. I will make sure that you've done so, and I will see you in detention. You will get your wand back when Mr. Malfoy gets his replaced, so don't try anything stupid. As for me taking sides, I am protecting more than one student in this room. Trust me, Potter, when I tell you to stay away from Draco. Your obsession with him poses far more danger than anything Draco could do to you. Good night."

Snape's last sentence caused enough distraction in Harry to get his mind off expulsion. Obsessed? He wasn't obsessed with Draco, he was trying to protect everyone. Yet he knew what he'd just done. Again, he saw the elastic waistband of Draco's black shorts coming away from his pale skin. Shame burned his cheeks.

As if Snape were using legilimency to see into his mind, the Potions Master grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him towards the door. "Get out of here."


	5. Shelter

Shaved. White. Hairless. The image was with Harry all the time now. He couldn't unsee it, even if he wanted to.

The sight of students lining up in groups, to walk to Hogsmeade, made him smash his fist against the stone column in front of him. "Fucking blond, white, white-haired skinny little shit! Little easily-bruised, frosty-headed creep!"

Across the courtyard, Malfoy and his friends prepared to join the outing. Malfoy's crew surrounded him like bodyguards, making Harry wonder if they'd been paid to be his friends. Did they know what he had? Were they privileged to eyeball Draco in their rooms whenever they wanted?

How dare that crusty-mouthed jerk possess something so innocent looking, like paper-thin tissue, bare as fuck, puffed and hidden out of reach in that gut-hardening way.

The school year was fast approaching the Yule Ball, but today's sky delivered a warmer, white-washed, overcast day. It was probably one of the last pleasant days of the season and Harry had to watch everyone leaving while he stayed behind, yet again. Two weeks of detention, spent wandless, staring at the back of Malfoy's head from a distance, was the closest Harry could get without triggering Snape's appearance. He couldn't take much more. He deserved an outing as much as anyone else.

Hairless. Or nearly. There was a faint down. Just as pale as the hairs on Draco's head. Light had caught Draco's skin just right, and Harry could see a faint thatch of translucent hairs bending the light.

Sometimes he wondered if he was so angry for missing the chance to at least rub his fingers over it. That wouldn't have killed Malfoy. The humiliation would've served him right. It would've made this detention worth it.

Detention was going to last until Draco got a new wand. There was some delay with Malfoy Senior being available to accompany his son to Olivander's due to a Ministry investigation. This bit of gossip, as to why Draco walked around unarmed when dark happenings made it practical for every student to keep their wand close, made Harry want to puke. Draco could've got himself a hundred wands by now. No, this was about keeping Harry separated from his for as long as possible. He wouldn't be surprised if Draco had a wand already stashed out of sight. But then, the gossip would have no fuel to flourish on.

Rumor had it, Blaise defended Draco one too many times, before the question came up, 'Where's his wand, anyway?' Draco might've been reclusive this new term, but he's pissed enough people off over the years to cause lasting grudges. Harry knew there were students who hated Draco and wouldn't hesitate to strike first if they caught him without protection. Serves him right.

However, it did occur to Harry to make the trip to Olivander's and to buy a temporary wand for Draco, himself. Be the bigger man. But that was pointless, since the wand chooses the wizard. The sooner Draco got his, the sooner Harry could get his back.

Of course, there was the itching annoyance of feeling a little guilty about what he'd done to Draco. So maybe he went too far. Maybe he saw something he shouldn't have seen. Whatever dark magic Draco's involved with, he sure didn't want any part of it. He knew that what he saw between Draco's legs, was an illusion. Perfection gave it away. Girls weren't that perfect. He never wanted to touch any girl the way he wanted to run his finger against that downy soft place. It looked soft, anyway. It made him want to touch it and maybe that was part of the spell.

To what purpose, had Malfoy changed his body? That didn't figure in with the random attacks against the students or Voldemort's campaign of terror. And Snape knew. Snape was protecting Malfoy.

Draco, Crabbe, and Blaise came out of the alcove and drifted closer to the lines of students. Draco pulled his robe off to remove the sweater vest underneath. His movements were so wan and understated that it made Harry remember how light Draco had felt when he pulled him from the bath. It didn't strike Harry as healthy, but Draco smiled at something Blaise said to him. Their heads bent towards one another and Draco actually laughed. For a moment, it was like the sun coming out of the clouds.

Harry was often so angry with Draco, that he saw him through a film of frustration. It made him forget what Draco really looked like. Unguarded and smiling at his friend, Draco looked …good.

He looked deceptively normal, maybe a bit too pretty with all that damn bright hair. If seen in a certain light, Harry swore that it shifted from gold to a silvery sheen. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked or if that was also a trick of the light. What was it with Draco and light? He was as dark a wizard as they came. What Harry saw the other night, what he still sees every time he closes his eyes, was proof that Draco had gone and gotten himself into some seriously advanced dark magic. He was a threat to the whole school, and as usual, no one was going to believe Harry until it was too late.

After thinking about it, he realized that Snape had a point. Yes, he was ready to admit now, there were some signs of obsession. But that was only because Malfoy was so much trouble. He was an arrogant bully and that hadn't changed just because he'd gotten himself cursed to hell and back. He had to have been up to something pretty evil to warrant that. How could he live with himself?

Harry knew he could've treated Malfoy better, if Malfoy would ever bother to treat him with any decency. Like, if he looked at Harry with one-tenth the friendliness that he looked at Blaise with. Harry wasn't a jerk and Draco totally deserved his humiliation the other night.

But nobody deserved that. That, between his legs. How was he coping? How was he not totally suicidal? Did he touch it? What'd it feel like?

One possibility kept inserting itself illogically. The more Harry shoved it aside, the more it insisted itself valid. What if Malfoy wanted it? What if it was done on purpose because Malfoy secretly wanted to be female? Muggles did shit like that. A wizard could, in theory, have himself the same crises. But really, that idea felt like such a reach, he knew he was kidding himself. Malfoy might be thin and delicate, but that didn't make him girly. That would've been an insult to girls.

That would've been too good to be true. Face it, the one thing a diva-brat like Malfoy did not need, was a vagina. His looks could already get him what he wanted from most anyone in the school, if the little shit for brains only knew how to talk nice to people. Charm them. He'd have people eating out of his fucking hands. He already has everything, he doesn't get to have more power. Because if it were true, if this were a world where Malfoy actually had functioning girl parts and wanted it that way, that would be so freaking hot Harry couldn't think about it without getting super pissed off.

Malfoy would totally win if he gave Harry so much as a chance at it. Talk about sinister. Talk about dark wizards. That was the stuff of Harry's nightmares. He could tell Voldemort to fuck off all day long. But that thing Draco's walking around with, that keeps pulling his mind back to it and making him hard every time he thinks about it, he didn't know what to do with that. How do you protect yourself against something that makes you want it? You can't, that's what makes it evil. That's what makes Draco evil. All that angel-white hair might fool a lot of people, but it didn't fool Harry.

Harry felt the hair standing up on the back of his neck, like every part of him knew he should've touched it when he had the chance. But Draco had cried like such a fucking little girl. Screw him for making Harry feel so guilty when he was the one being the jerk. So he saw it, so what.

Why did he have to sit at school like a prisoner while everyone went to Hogsmeade? He didn't recall Draco doing one hour of detention for breaking his nose. That's because Harry wasn't so quick to hysteria and needed Snape to come running like Draco. In fact, damn Draco's stupid wand. Damn his soft white skin that bruised like a fucking banana. Damn the sight of that dark-pale, pink secret between his legs. It seared so clearly in Harry's mind, its paleness in stark contrast against Malfoy's black shorts sliding down, that even his in his mind, it dared Harry to touch it, to open it.

That's it. He knew what he was going to do the instant the idea occurred to him. There was no debating it. Whatever sinister designs Malfoy was up to, the fact that he could not shake its influence, was stronger proof that Malfoy was up to something and needed to be watched. To hell with detention.

He'd spent two weeks washing out dirty potion bottles, hosing the Owelry and raking Screwt droppings with Hagrid. He'd paid for his crime. As he saw the last line of students leaving, he ran for his invisibility cloak.

He didn't have to worry about Ron and Hermoine. They knew he had detention and made other plans. She was nose-deep in research and Ron was probably beating the shit out of a bludger right now.

Roughly twenty minutes behind all the other students, Harry caught up with Draco leaving The Three Brooms with his entourage of Slytherins. Harry noticed he was the only one not drinking butterbeer. At ten paces behind him, he thought he heard Draco say the temperature was dropping. Draco kept hugging himself and looking up at the sky.

Listening closer, Draco expressed regret at taking off his sweater vest. "It's fucking cold. It was bloody hot thirty minutes ago."

The utter injustice with which this comment was delivered, made Harry look up at the sky. Sure, the sun had gone in and it did feel cooler, but that was typical December then, wasn't it? Lots of clouds and brisk gusts. The arrogant git ought not be so skinny.

As Harry stared up, a cast of shadow expanded with swelling clouds. They seemed to roll in over the village all at once. The second his scar tingled, he knew it wasn't natural. In the split second he lost, worried about giving himself away, a plume of black smoke barreled down from the sky and blasted the entire lane in a vaporous, dark explosion. The impact lifted all of them off their feet and sent them, blind and sprawling, on their backs in the street.

Harry didn't know how long he lay there, unable to move. A foot, launching off of his chest, indicated that the cloak was still hiding him, though it felt like it had billowed up around his legs. People were screaming and running. Something blurry, falling around him, burned his eyes. Fearing he was shit out of luck, he felt his glasses entangled in the cloak.

Not only was Malfoy nowhere in sight, there were people laying in the street, unmoving. As alarming as this was, shops were on fire directly across from him and groups of people ran past him. Now the sky was black and sparks of fire showered from it. He stumbled to his feet, looking for shelter. He knew, instinctively to avoid the shops. The shops had been filled with students. By the looks of things, this was a Death Eater attack and students were easy targets.

Look for a cellar or a back door. He found neither. He flattened himself against a wall of white-washed bricks and discovered an unlocked window. He climbed in.

Inside, darkness concealed the room. It took banging his shin twice and running headlong into a stack of crates to realize it was a storage area. He crouched there, catching his breath and gathering his bearings. Screams sounded far off, but he could hear windows breaking and the grumbling of male voices. Crouching by the window seal, he tried to hone in on their location. They were just at the corner outside the building.

"I know just what to do with him."

"The Lord said don't touch him, take another one."

"He also said, 'Scare the hell out all of them'. I'm following orders."

Something about that snarling, animalistic drawl, made Harry jeopardize his position to look. Three people moved in silhouette against a back drop of flames. The largest of the men, built like a beast, drug a much smaller person along with him. Harry could not tell who the third man was and quickly lost interest when the distinct shape and manner of those limbs being forced to move, and the small whimper, told him it was Draco. He knew at once that the beast of a man was Fenrir.

To see Draco so near to the threat of Fenrir's bite, sent Harry slipping on the rush of his adrenaline. His legs couldn't move fast enough and didn't know what to do once they started. No wand, no magic, meant he had to hope his cloak was enough to keep him from being detected. Humans were easy to fool, but Fenrir could smell him. The werewolf could choose to ruin Draco in the blink of an eye, and there'd be no saving him. Draco's blood would be infected with the curse. No one could salvage him from that.

When their backs were turned, Harry threw his leg over the window and leapt out. He hurried close enough to keep up, but tried to stay far enough back to keep his scent from giving him away.

They took Draco behind a shop with stairs leading underground. Harry waited till light flooded the basement windows and crept to peek in. There, stacks of dry goods, burlap sacks of grains, crated jars and kegs blocked his view. The men locked the door behind them. Knowing they were mere feet on the other side of it, Harry dislodged a stone and threw it at the next set of windows down, while at the same time, used his fist, protected by the cloak, to punch a hole in the window closest to the basement door. The larger break was meant to distract them from the smaller, while he snaked his hand through to unlock the door. He had sense enough to wait until the unknown man came checking, saw nothing, then turned back inside, before opening the door.

Treading carefully, once inside, he followed their gruff murmuring to an overlook, surveying a larger room below another one. A brewery with an open-room cellar. The smell of fermentation, deep earth, and old cedar staves, hung thick in the air. He hoped it was enough to conceal him.

They had Draco pinned against cement bricks supporting two giant casks on either side of him. Fenrir held him by the nape of his collar as the other man stood watching across from Draco. The look on Draco's face said it all. There was no fighting a man-wolf three times his size. With no one here to control Fenrir, he could do whatever the bloody hell he wanted. His canine teeth dripped saliva and lust, as he bent over Draco's neck. He raked the points of his teeth over Draco's skin, eliciting a sob.

The other man asked, "What are you going to do with him? You can't spoil him."

"No, but I can taste him. I can have my fun. Isn't that right, Daddy's boy?"

Fenrir's voice groveled below human tones. Harry felt the weight of it, heavy with something the werewolf wanted. Werewolves were not known for their restraint and control. Fenrir was playing roulette with Draco, taking a chance on where his instincts would fail.

He reached down, ripping Draco's coat open and tore through the other layers to force his hand into Draco's pants. Draco bit down, suppressing the scream welling inside of him. Harry felt it, even if he couldn't hear it. Draco's body caved like he'd been hit with a cleaver.

Fenrir laughed. "What's wrong, Draco? Didn't Daddy show you how to take it?"

The comment confused Harry, but Draco's reaction was more alarming. His face twisted bitterly and Harry just knew he was about to deliver the coldest 'Fuck you,' that would probably get him killed, that Harry and Fenrir had ever seen. But Fenrir must've done something with his hand because Draco screamed out instead. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and his chest shuddered.

Harry looked around for something he could use as a weapon. How could he possibly defeat two full grown men, one of them a werewolf?

The answer didn't come fast enough. He saw the crotch of Draco's pants slide as Fenrir move his meaty hand deep inside. He growled at Draco. "What'd you think? One finger, and I could ruin the Dark Lord's plans. Two fingers, and I could split you."

Draco's feverish sobs echoed off the cellar walls. "Please… no."

Harry had never heard such helplessness in a man's voice. It hurt. Draco had certainly not begged him like that two weeks ago. Tears, yes, but they'd been stubborn ones. The very element in Draco's voice, that made Harry search frantically for a weapon, only encouraged Fenrir to elicit greater crying from Draco.

Why did it take so much pain for Harry to see the casings of beer for the weapons they were? He knew nothing about breweries, but suddenly the pulley system used to support and move large casks, made some sort of sense. He saw chains and searched the scaffolding for a lever. All he had to do was make a bad enough crash, and they'd stop causing Draco's cries. None of the ropes made sense to him. In the end, a rusty hatchet found in a tool bin, was all he had to loosen the cast iron spikes bracing the straps on each side of the casks. The wooden scaffolding let him choose the spot directly over Fenrir's head. He wasn't strong enough to pull the spikes out, but each one had groves like screw heads and he was able to loosen them enough to cause the center cask to tilt. It creaked when it did. Down below, the two men didn't seem to hear it over Draco's sobs.

Harry wanted the cask to drop right onto Fenrir's head, without warning, but it was still fastened to the shelving. He also risked hitting Draco at the same time. The framework of the shelving did, however, slope under the weight of misaligned barrels. Ten casks on the topmost shelf slid forward, pulled by the loosened one. One second too many, and they'd have time to snatch Draco and run. Harry threw himself on the leaning cask, griping it at the tap. His weight determined its fall. He thought to angle his body away from the landing spot, catching his foot on Draco's shoulder as he fell. The biggest danger was crushing himself and Draco beneath the casks that toppled from the shelving. For a moment, the invisibility cloak left him, billowing over his head in the fall. He landed, knees first, and rolled out of harms way. When he looked up, Draco lay on his side next to Fenrir. Fenrir's body twitched unconsciously against the shelving that had him pinned.

The other Death Eater dug himself out of the rubbish just as Harry found Fenrir's wand. Harry petrified him, giving himself time to rouse Draco, snatch his invisibility cloak, and stumble to escape out the ground entrance. Draco, distraught, had to be pulled alongside him. Harry found his hiding place from before and forced Draco through the open window. They hid there in silence, till the noised died down.

Draco never even asked what Harry was doing there. After so much crying, Draco looked like he never wanted to leave the confines of his silence ever again. None of his mean outbursts surfaced. And for the eternally long moments he spent waiting with Harry, he sat docile as a child in the dark. That was almost as hard to watch as his crying.

Staring at moonlight shafting in on Draco's temple, Harry could feel the damage inside him. They waited there until it got too cold to stay without heat. Every instinct told Harry to get Draco back to Hogwarts. Whether the Death Eaters were still out there or not, they'd left behind a rogue storm to cripple Hogsmeade's recovery. The temperature felt far below normal for the season. The sky opened, dumping so much snow, they were up to their ankles by the time Harry got them outside the walls of the village.

Hogwarts lay within walking distance. But the snowstorm added a significant challenge to that. Draco, shuffling under the invisibility cloak with Harry, added another. Draco was warm against him. Too warm. Harry tried not to touch him more than necessary, out of courtesy. But something was wrong because Draco seemed to be having trouble walking in the snow. He'd fall against Harry and Harry felt the moisture on his cheek. Sweat heated from Draco's collar, and Harry wondered if he was getting sick. Certainly neither of them were dressed for the weather.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco's steps had slowed so much, Harry didn't feel they would make it inside the castle. So far, they had seen and heard no one else out in the storm. A dangerous wind blew around them, no longer letting the cloak fully conceal them. When Draco fell to his knees for the third time, Harry changed direction and headed for the shrieking shack.

Getting Draco inside was an ordeal. Harry's fingers were so cold, he could hardly hold onto him. He was sure that if anything could rouse Draco into using his biting snobbery, it was the dilapidated condition of the shack. Not to mention Harry had to dig through snow and roots just to get to the passage. But once underground, they were out of the wind. Crooked, root strewn staircases and leaning, condemned walls were their best chance of getting through the night.


	6. Forbidden

Harry used a spell to create a small, smokeless fire under the crumbling mantle. He propped Draco near it. They sat on dusty floorboards like that while, slowly, color returned to Draco's face. He appeared to rouse, take in his surroundings, and shrank in on himself. "Where are we?"

"The shrieking shack." He wasn't surprised that Draco had never been inside. From the outside, the place looked like it could collapse at any moment, not to mention the Willow guarding it.

"Do you think they're still out there?" Anxiety thinned his voice.

"I dunno."

Draco accepted this in dejected silence.

The obvious words between them went unsaid until Harry noticed Draco struggling to keep a straight face. Every few minutes something would twist his expression. Tears escaped in spite of his best efforts to wipe them before Harry saw them. But he held the rest in to the point that his body shook. He covered his face.

"For god's sake, Malfoy, just let it out. I'd lose my fucking mind if Fenrir touched me like that."

Maybe Harry was too blunt. Maybe it was the fact that Harry had seen everything. Draco shouted at him, "Don't fucking talk to me about him. You don't know anything, Potter. Anything!"

The wounded thread in Draco's voice took Harry back to the bath two weeks ago. He didn't know what was worse, hearing how pitifully Draco could cry, or having him try to hold it in. Harry hadn't cried like that since his was fourteen, and never in front of anyone.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I did to you in the bath."

He figured he'd give Malfoy some space, zipping his jacket and walking to the door.

Draco's head shot up. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just gonna take a look around, give you some space."

Draco looked stricken. "Don't go out there. This storm means they're still around. We'll know they're gone when the temperature rises."

"I'm just stepping in the hallway. Wouldn't you like a moment to yourself?"

"I would like to be in the safety of my room sipping butterbeer, Potter. I would like to have my wand back. I would like to be able to defend myself against fucking werewolves, but since what I would like appears to be irrelevant at the moment, you can stay where you are."

"Christ, Malfoy, just ask me to stay. And by the way, you're welcome. If it wasn't for me, you'd be face-down in the snow."

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't need your help."

"Oh, fine." Harry took out Fenrir's wand and threw it at Draco's feet. It landed next to his leg. "Take it. If you're such a fucking crybaby, it's not going to do you any good anyway."

He saw the way Draco looked at the wand, flinching like he was scared of it. When his mouth turned down like a child's, Harry realized he was.

Malfoy shot back, "You're so fucking stupid. If I picked that up, I would kill you right now."

"No you wouldn't. Then you'd be here all by yourself crying in the dark, with no one to save you."

As if his words stripped Draco of any remaining dignity, Draco picked up the wand and threw it, striking Harry just beneath his eye and cracking his glasses.

Before Harry could retaliate, Draco leapt to his feet and charged passed him. Harry tackled him on the landing. "Malfoy, if we're going to survive the night, we can't go at each other's throats like this."

He fended off Draco's punches and pushed him against the banister. Rotting wood gave way. Draco flailed to keep his balance. Harry grabbed his shirt, yanking him back from the dark drop off. This panicked both of them and Harry twisted Malfoy's shirt.

"Tell me what I have ever done to you? Before the other night. Why do you hate me so much?"

Draco snarled, "I don't care enough about you to hate you, Potter."

Harry knew, no matter what he'd done, he deserved better treatment that this. Something had to give. He was going do either of two things. Bloody Malfoy's face till there was nothing left worth looking at, or abandon him and take off for the school. He had to get Malfoy to calm the fuck down so they could both think.

He's afraid, Harry's instincts reasoned. He's provoking the hell out of you because he's afraid. And judging from the look on his face, he's pretty pleased you're giving him a distraction. Harry knew the minute he let go, Draco's mouth would provoke another fight.

 _Use love. He's not expecting that._

Something whispered it.

Screw that, Harry thought. He didn't even know where that came from.

 _No, not love. Not that mushy shit. Just touch him. If he wants a distraction, give him one. Look at his mouth. If somebody grabbed your dick right now, wouldn't you shut the fuck up to get a little warmth? Doesn't a friendly hand feel a lot better than a punch in the face?_

They were alone, after all. Draco might've been toxic, but it was keeping Harry alert. It was keeping his blood heated. He'd just seen Draco completely helpless. What if Harry showed him one of his own secrets? Not to take advantage of him, just to prove to Draco that Harry wasn't laughing at him.

 _You can't argue with him. He's better at it and you can't win. Do it. Shut him up for good._

Decidedly, Harry pushed Draco back into the room. Draco had to shuffle his feet to keep from falling. Just as he was about to let loose his outrage, Harry pushed him into the nearest wall, trapping him. Draco had time to frown, barely comprehending, before Harry pressed his mouth into his.

Harry expected a fight. He even expected tears, after what Draco had gone though tonight. But he expected to render him silent and get his point across. If Draco fucking gave a shit about anyone but himself, he'd see that Harry was worth being a friend to.

He wasn't sure what a proper kiss was supposed to be like, but he put everything he had into it. He made himself ignore Draco's straining to push him away. He chased Draco's mouth, finally acquiring enough pressure to hold his head still, and push himself into Draco.

Draco's curses turned to grunts. He needed to breathe and Harry wasn't letting him.

When Harry realized that Draco wasn't biting him, he went deeper. Neither was Draco letting up. The idea of being inside Draco's mouth, of inhaling him and sucking the saliva off his tongue, thrilled Harry more than he ever imagined.

He had never kissed so deeply before, and equated it with penetration. Malfoy's tongue, sliding against his, felt that good. Even though Draco wasn't resisting nearly as much now, Harry refused to risk seeing rejection on his face. When he did dare to peek, Draco's eyes were squeezed closed. Harry drove ahead, running his hands over the length of Draco's arms and chest. He wrapped Draco against him and rode the curve of his body.

Clearly, Draco was more relaxed than before, but a lingering stiffness told Harry he wasn't exactly sharing mutual bliss. Draco, more or less, let Harry wear himself out against him. To Harry, the experience was new and more than he dared to hope for. Was Draco feeling guilty about treating him so badly? He prayed for that to be true, as he also prayed that Draco was okay with his erection against him.

He knew they wouldn't really take it too far, and tried through his kisses to tell Draco that was fine. Draco's body didn't offend him and he desperately wanted Draco to know that, if anything, it made Harry even more curious. Saying none of this, Harry had to believe that his actions somehow conveyed it all.

Draco wrestled enough freedom to throw his head back. "You have to let me breathe."

Almost wincing, Harry lowered his mouth to Draco's neck. Draco's body trembled and he felt a stab of fear. Pulling back, he saw that Draco was laughing softly, not crying.

He had to know. "Are you making fun of me?"

Draco didn't deny it. But he did something that prevented Harry from being angry or embarrassed. He slipped his leg between Harry's and pressed his thigh against his erection. A very serious look came over him as Harry fell into a chasm of ecstasy.

He thought sex between people was supposed to look a certain, intimate way, have a certain gentleness. But Draco's intention, as he massaged Harry with his thigh, was neither affectionate nor gentle. He looked at Harry like Harry owed him something. It was confusing, but it made Harry feel so good that Draco was doing it, so excited, he had to see where it was going. If he had known he could get this from Draco, he would've kissed him years ago.

Draco was careful not to do anything more. He encouraged Harry to use only the parts of his body that he offered. Harry didn't have a problem with that. When he leaned to reconnect, Draco turned his head away, saying flat out, "Take what I can give you."

Harry knew that was all the permission he was ever going to get. They could sort out what this night meant later, but right now, the window was already closing on Draco's generosity. He buried his head in Draco's neck and pumped into him like it would make up for everything. If grinding into Draco was a way to prove himself, then he wasn't holding back.

Only Draco's shortness of breath, the blood infusing his cheeks, and a few beads of sweat, revealed what he kept hidden. Harry needed to see that Draco was enjoying it as much as he, but Draco kept that evidence from him. Harry's thrusts demanded to see emotion from Draco. He wanted to see Draco's fucking soul, the way he couldn't hide his own. But Draco's poker face was amazing. A slight grimace was all that hinted of the duress Harry was inflicting upon Draco's body.

It doesn't matter, Harry told himself. Why should this be any different with Draco? It's weird, it's crazy, and it's so fucking hot I'm gonna come, and he's letting me. He wants me to. He's letting me fuck him through his clothes. I'm fucking Draco Malfoy!

It kinda made sense if he didn't think too much about tonight's events. So a little physical comfort was what they both needed. So this was the safest way for Draco to let himself have it. Harry would take this any day, all day long. His finish embedded Draco into the wall, or he certainly tried to. If Draco was going to pretend he didn't feel anything, then there was no point in pulling the punches. As Harry's spasm locked him against Draco, the temptation to let his jerks hurt Draco a little, was overriding.

Draco clutched the sides of Harry's shirt and held on, looking straight at him as he finished. Several aftershocks kept Harry pinned against him, before Harry lifted his weight off.

Funny how one side of an orgasm felt very different once you were on the other side of it. Awash with endorphins, Harry felt the unmistakable anxiety of reason sidle up next to him. Why on earth would Draco allow such a thing to happen? Harry didn't have the will to chase down that answer. His body quickly lost heat without Draco against him, and he wondered what good, if any, Draco got out of it.

Behind him, Draco resumed his place in front of the small fire. Unable to take the gift, Harry asked, "Why did you let me do that?"

"It's just skin," Draco answered too fast. "Don't make anything more of it than it is."

That was the most selfish, uncompromising answer Harry could imagine anyone giving. It made him want to ask 'Was that the case with Fenrir as well?' But he chose not to ruin the relief flooding his veins. For once, Draco's unpredictability had produced unexpected pleasure. Of course there'd be a price. Of course there'd be distance and snobbery.

As his body cooled down, Harry's uneasiness lifted a notch. For some reason, he hesitated performing a cleaning spell on himself using the stolen wand. He decided he could make Draco more comfortable by using a cleaning spell on what was left of the moth-eaten bed curtains. Once performed, he laid them out on the floor so that Draco could stretch out if he wanted to.

Draco eyed his efforts with a raised eyebrow, saying nothing. The room was far from warm, in spite of the fire, and Harry figured at some point he'd have to talk Draco into sharing the invisibility cloak with him again. The idea didn't seem so outlandish now.

Draco stayed huddled in his spot and did not join Harry on the curtains.

Harry had to ask. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to take advantage of you or anything. It came down to feeling like crap or feeling good. Sorry if that was wrong. You've had a rough night."

Draco's profile remained fixed on the fire. He'd gone from hysterics to disassociation, but at least his body seemed much more relaxed and Harry took credit for this. Maybe people really did just need more hugs. Just when he thought Draco wasn't going to answer him, Draco spoke towards the fire. "I'm fine, Potter."

He just couldn't leave well enough alone. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"No, and I don't want you to talk either."

"Not even about what we just did?"

"It was perfect. It doesn't need conversation added to it."

"It couldn't have been that good for you."

Draco turned to him. "Do you have something you want to ask me, Potter, so that you can stop talking?"

"Oh my god, I'm just trying to figure this out."

"It's sex, it comes in many forms, and talking about it detracts from it."

"But, your body… You've got to be frustrated about that. At least tell me why this was done to you? Can't you, can't you have an orgasm?"

"Don't concern yourself with my orgasm."

"Holy shit, who are you? A human being would need to talk about a million things right now."

Draco sighed, throwing his head back, and Harry suspected that even he was growing tired of the mask.  
He asked, "Are you trying to make me think that you couldn't care less about what we just did? Are you working that hard to convince me, or yourself?"

"Potter, if we get out of here tonight, nothing's going to change. Don't try to start a whole new life based on what just happened."

"Did you enjoy it?" Harry leaned in, searching for any color rising in Draco's face. If Draco was lying, his body would tell the truth.

Draco put his back to him. "Why can't you just have the confidence to do without my answer?"

"Why can't you just answer me?"

"Harry, I have to be very careful with my body. It's not just about me. You shouldn't be so needy. You should be more confident, like my father."

"There's so many things wrong with that statement."

"There's so many things wrong, period. The fact that something went right for you, should shut you up."

"Oh my god, Malfoy. You're evil."

"For protecting myself?" He turned back to Harry. Emotion flushed across his face. "I let you get off on me because I am totally fucked. My body is hideous, I'm going crazy wondering when Voldemort is going to kill my family, and your hardon was the closest thing I have to comfort. If that sounds like shit, that's because it is, and that's my life. So no, we're not going to get cozy talking about our new friendship. It doesn't exist. I'm just trying to get through this school year without getting killed. If I want a rough fuck against the wall, I'll have it."

Harry almost didn't say it. "What about making love? Would you let someone make love to you? Why does it have to be rough?"

Malfoy looked at him so humorlessly, he expected brutal sarcasm from him at best. At worst, ridicule. But what came out, made Harry think very carefully about stirring the conversation.

"I don't even know if this body can. I can feel things. Amazing things. But the idea of using it, really using it, scares me. They say it's going to hurt."

"Who?"

"Everyone. The people who did this to me. My mother, even. I might as well get comfortable with a little pain."

"You don't have to accept that. Girls seem to enjoy sex as much as men do."

"I'm not a girl. This isn't natural. A bunch of fucking men did this to me."

Harry shifted closer to him. "Who? And why?"

"The less you know, the better, Potter. It's temporary. I won't be stuck like this. In fact, I'm not like this all the time. In less than twenty-four hours, I'll be normal again for a few weeks, give or take."

"Did Voldemort change your body as punishment?"

Draco looked around the room like he was looking for a way out of that question. "He's using this to control my… my family."

"Why do you follow him?"

"We don't follow him, Potter. Not anymore. We're fucking hostages now. My father will do whatever he asks, just to keep us alive."

"Why that, of all spells? I mean, how do you cope?"

Draco laughed. "Because that's one of the worst ones. And as you can see, not very well. I rub up against the first guy who offers, barring werewolves. How do you think I cope?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to imagine what you're going through."

"Well stop, because you can't."

Harry got close to him. The movement wasn't lost on Draco, but he said nothing.

"I can bloody well know what it's like to fear for your family. You're only afraid of Voldemort hurting them. Mine was actually killed by him. If anyone can understand your fear of him, it's me."

"Don't try to be friends with me, Potter. I'm in too much trouble. We can never be friends."

"I'd say, what we did against the wall was a pretty good start." Harry smiled.

"I don't know what that was about for you and I don't care. I needed something rough, something stronger than me. That let me push against it with all my might. It's like being able to cry as much as you need to, without losing the respect of others. Sometimes I just want to feel my own strength. And I can't feel that if what I'm pushing against is so weak that it falls away. I need it to stand there and hold up to all that I can do to it."

Draco saw that he had Harry's attention, confused as it was. He turned his whole body to face him. Talking with his hands, he had no idea that his animation engaged Harry on a completely different level.

"It's like you need to let it hold you down until you empty yourself of all the screams and violence that want out. All the things you want to smash, all the times you wanted to say 'no' and couldn't. Of all the feelings. You need it to be that strong, strong enough to hold you down while you empty yourself as you are not allowed to empty yourself in any other way. That's what I got out of it, Potter. That's what your orgasm did for me. You were so strong, you didn't even know that I was crying against you, letting my own violence out. Don't confuse that with potential friendship because it's not."

Harry thought about it. "Don't reject my friendship so quickly. So easily. You've never even given me a chance."

"I gave you a chance. You turned me down for that red-headed Weasley."

"Is that why you hate me so much? We were kids, Malfoy."

"What's the matter, Potter? Can't do without me? You've got a kink for vanilla? The finest of the flavors?"

Harry had to laugh. That was arrogance on steroids, even for Draco, who laughed with him.

"That's a very muggle phrase, Malfoy. Where'd you hear it?"

"I've seen the contraband magazines pilfered through at the Ministry. When Father's in a meeting, it's often the only entertainment one has. Blaise and I spent a whole weekend helping the Department of Magic sort crates of muggle rubbish, acquired during raids. I've seen first hand how muggle culture has infiltrated ours."

"Yet you're quick to use their phrases."

"That's nothing. Blaise's favorite is, 'Once you've had black, you never-"

"Oh, my god, I'm familiar with it, Malfoy. Are you and Blaise close? What's pure vanilla doing with Blaise?"

"He's a pureblooded wizard. Whatever I want."

"So your take on ethnicity, it's not that kind of race then? Your father's perfectly fine with Blaise's skin color?"

Draco looked at him sharply. "Blaise has the skin color of one of the oldest, most royal lineage on this planet. His ancestors were Pharaohs."

"Oh, my god, calm down."

"Calm yourself down. You've been around muggles all you life. It shows."

"Just because I have eyes, doesn't mean I'm racist, Malfoy."

"Blaise has the warmest, most beautiful, chestnut skin I've ever seen on a person. I'd lick him up one side and down the other before I'd touch you."

"Holy shit, Malfoy! I'm not racist. And that's pretty rich coming from someone who uses the term mudblood as casually as you do."

"Like I said, he's pureblood."

"Too bad he wasn't here thirty minutes ago. Does he know about the spell?"

"Of course not. Don't go blabbing your mouth."

"I didn't tell anyone."

"Only Snape."

"I mean, I haven't told anyone else. Not even Ron and Hermoine."

The mention of those names put a distasteful look on Draco's face. During the conversation, Draco's body had slumped onto the curtains. Now he stretched out on his side. Harry's heart gladdened at this display of comfort. It must've said something that it could be achieved in the wake of a Death Eater attack. Draco's shoulders angled his arms to lay loose over his thighs. It struck Harry as effeminate, but he didn't' say anything.

They arrived at the end of their words. Somewhere, both realized they were not going to fix anything with words. Conversation stretched out like pavement, ending abruptly in a black drop-off and forcing them to give into rest. Draco's demons were too powerful and Harry could only watch, isolated in his own darkness. Draco's mouth, still burning on his, was his consolation prize. He would use the memory to ward off Draco's sadness.

Against the chill, he sat thinking, how long had he wanted that connection with Draco, in a life where the idea wasn't even possible? Was this indulgence some sort of dormant seed, there since childhood, when he first laid eyes on Draco? Two eleven year-olds never had a chance of understanding this. Just because they were older, didn't mean that it was anymore comprehensible. So Harry lay down next to Draco, and appreciated having his presence. Not fighting, not complaining, not resisting each other. They both knew that in the morning, this was all going to disappear like it had never happened. The hunt would be on again and they'd be running on some invisible, perpetual treadmill that kept them fighting against each other.

Draco was right, they were facing too much opposition to enjoy an easy friendship. But Harry was sure that tonight was given to them, a reprieve, so that they could influence that somehow. Making love to Draco, using only his mouth, was not an accident. It was the Universe showing him that this, and even greater things, were possible. If an easy friendship could not be had, not readily, then a hard, complicated relationship, in which Draco screamed insults in the light of day, but let him win the fight to slip into his mouth at night, was better than nothing.

He closed his eyes. Draco's sniffle brought them open again. The respectful thing to do, he knew, was to act like he didn't know Draco was crying. But the more he listened, the more that felt like just another cage Voldemort had put them in, expecting them to drag out the struggle. Harry wanted out and he was pretty sure Draco did too.

He made the first move. Draco turned his face to him and let him have the kiss. Harry tried to be patient, but he couldn't keep himself from eating right into the welcome. He was mostly relived that Draco still wanted to kiss him, after his first rabid attack.

Draco's open-mouthed responsiveness blurred the blame of who did what to whom. Whether he pulled Harry on top of him, or whether Harry's weight compelled Draco's legs to open for him, was irrelevant. Harry shifted against him, rebuilding the connection they'd left against the wall. They'd done it once and there was no harm in doing it again. That's what tonight was for, Harry told himself with each sliding push against Draco.

Darkness gave Draco the confidence to let Harry explore with his hands. What Harry found, induced fist-clinching groans from Draco. Harry had never held that much power in his hands before, controlling the expressions rolling across Draco's face, the shudder of his muscles, and even his tears.

Armed with new information about Draco, he understood something amazing. Draco needed to cry. Not just because of his stress, but because of his energy. That's why Harry had seen him doing it more times than he could count in the last two weeks. This so-called evil, arrogant little beast, above anyone's reproach, had so much feeling trapped inside of him that he needed catalysts to force him to let it out.

Under Harry's hands, Draco convulsed repeatedly. His tears were as much a part of his climaxes as Harry's hands. How unnatural it must've been, to grow up in the shadow of a father who demanded dignity and perfection at all times. Where else could the feelings go? It was energy and energy never died. It wanted out.

That's what Draco meant when he used the word 'pushing'. He was talking about having to do something with all that energy. Well, if Draco wanted something to push against, he'd have to push all of Harry's weight. Not that Harry was massive, but he anchored Draco to the floor effortlessly. Harry sank into him, form fitting and nestled in their clothes. Their clothes were uncomfortable, but the heat of Draco's body was not. It pulled Harry from his own and the two met in slick friction that had Draco spreading his legs further to accommodate Harry. At some point, their pants pinched and hurt too much. Harry promised to keep Draco warm as he persuaded Draco out of his.

Wizard to wizard, Harry could feel their energy cycle between them, intake, outtake. It destroyed Draco's composure. All the well-bred traits in the world, were no match for what he pumped into Draco, that Draco internalized deep in his gut, spun up through the flat plain of his torso, and squeezed out through his sweat, his voice, and his tears. He suffered to receive Harry, and Harry memorized every delicious morsel of it. From the crease in Draco's brow, to his chapped lips, to the teeth he bared as he strained underneath Harry's strength.

Draco did say he needed the strength Harry used against him, so Harry gave this to him. They forced the boundaries of their remaining clothes. They tried to make it enough, to let their bodies touch without any fabric to dampen that exquisite contact. They boldly cast underwear aside. Under the cloak, their eyes met through the fever of holding back. Draco's anguish had him fisting Harry's hair. The energy brought them to a point where they shared thoughts instead of words and all Harry saw in Draco's eyes, was, _I don't want to fight this anymore._

In a locked stare, Harry did what Draco appeared to want. It was the next logical step, leaving no room to consider anything else. This was theirs. He entered, bracing himself against natural defenses that rose up in Draco's body. Tissue stretched and he could literally feel Draco's body breaking minutely, to let him in. He paid that much attention to the blood rising in Draco's face and the white line emerging on the grimace of his upper lip. Strangely, it reminded Harry of Lucius Malfoy's angry face.

Through gritted teeth, Draco endured the engorgement Harry eased into his body. Harry was careful not to move too much as Draco tried to adjust. The excitement of seeing Draco accept him, was more than enough to keep him hard and get them through the uncertainty of pain. And from there, they figured it out.

Every awkward, imperfect stroke between them after this, was seen as a gift. And when dawn finally came, they did open their eyes in gratefulness. It made it easier to let go of this one-time agreement. Harry didn't even try to talk Draco into some secret commitment, though the idea did circle his mind with shark-like intention. But he'd been given so much of Draco, he couldn't bring himself to ask for more. He decided to save that conversation for another time.

Draco swore that they were still not friends, but he let Harry stroke his hair while his head rested in the crook of Harry's neck. The hard part was over, leaving soreness and grazed pleasure. Harry pressed into him. His body asked for one more treat before they braved the snow outside. Draco saw him reach down between them, but grabbed Harry's hand. "Can't. I'm too sore." He pushed it away, clutching himself dramatically.

"Really? That kinda makes a guy feel good. You're welcome."

"Not in a good way. Something tells me the walk to the castle is going to be harder on me that it is for you." He flung the cloak off. "We've stayed too late. How're we going to explain it?"

"Malfoy, what's wrong with your hand?"

Draco looked. His fingers glistened with blood. Traced to the wrinkled shirttails covering his nudity, red smeared his thighs.

"Is that normal?" Harry asked.

Draco tried to speak, but the sight of fresh blood spreading beneath him, stunted his ability.

The next few moments went unrecorded in Harry's mind. Alarm, the rush to act, fractured his ability to move in the many directions he needed to. He raced to get pants and a coat on Draco, to carry him out. Draco fought him, insisting on examining himself in the sparse light. It was still freezing and Harry's mind calculated they were still too far from the castle for Draco to be losing that much blood, that fast. He raced through a list of spells to make travel possible, in case Draco couldn't make it. Nothing seemed practical. He raced to think of a way to stop the blood. What had he done? Had something ruptured?

He begged Draco to wait there for him while he ran for help. In the end, Draco insisted that he could go with Harry. With shaking hands, he stuffed strips of the curtains they had slept on, into his pants to absorb the blood and they set off for Hogwart's spires, seen over the snowy distance. Out in the light, Harry kept his eye on the quality of Draco's coloring, noting how gray he appeared with each step. They had to fight the urge to run, knowing it would only do Draco in faster. At one point, Harry lifted Draco, ignoring his curses and embarrassment.

"I can fucking walk, I'm not dying."

He told himself it was good that Draco was cursing him. As long as he had some fight, that meant the volume of blood was not what Harry thought he saw back at the shack. It really wasn't that alarming. Hell, maybe it was even normal, whatever that was, for someone under the spell that made Draco's body change. He stumbled along with Draco, not arguing.

Each time Draco got quiet, Harry shifted him to make sure he stayed roused. His grip on Draco slipped. When he reached to secure Draco's position, he felt the unmistakable squish of soaked cloth. His hand came away red. He tried to think of things to say, to keep Draco pissed off and talking. Each step in the snow became a step towards something unwanted. Snow-white sterility of the sky and forest, whispered that even if he made it to the castle, he was headed for something that was out of his control. It was bigger than his desire to save Draco. It was bigger than Draco's life, and the two of them had somehow, carelessly, let it lose last night. Their selfishness had lured them into the mouth of this white forest. And time was slowing, slowing Draco's speech, slowing his movements.

That slowness felt like reverence to Harry, as if whatever wanted Draco's life, was at least showing this much respect. Drifting snow felt like a white funeral. The forest recognized that Draco's life was a life worth taking. When Draco passed out against him and couldn't be woken, Harry kept his legs moving. He kept his hope moving, in spite of the lull in the trees and the air around him, to lay Draco down. No, that was just what the thing chasing Draco's life wanted. It wanted Harry to give up that easily. It wanted Harry to be terrified of Draco's stillness, his limpness, and the blue tint to his lips. It wanted Harry to think that he'd already lost. But that was out of the question. Even when Harry fell, even when he couldn't carry Draco anymore, he didn't give up.

Hagrid must've thought that Harry was a vision, from a rough night without sleep. A night fraught with Death Eaters. He opened his door just to get the banging to stop. His name, being shouted like that, surely meant somebody was dead.

The boy had no jacket out in this weather. Hagrid couldn't make sense of what he saw. With broken glasses and dirt-streaked tears, Harry looked like he'd slept under a tree. The front of his shirt clung to his body in blistering dark stains that had Hagrid pulling him into his house and trying to examine Harry's injuries. He couldn't understand a word Harry was saying through his tears. The more Hagrid tried to get him to calm, the more Harry shouted hoarse commands with an urgency that left all coherency behind. Only his pulling on Hagrid's arm, pulling him towards the door, not even letting Hagrid grab a coat, let the giant of a man discern the word, 'Malfoy,' spilling repeatedly from Harry's split lips.

When he heard it, he realized that that's all Harry had been saying in his hyperventilating hysteria.

It was Hagrid who picked up Draco's body from the snow, distinguishing it from all the red around it, and carried him to the castle.

Madame Pompfrey, Snape, and Dumbledore resigned themselves to do what had to be done. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were contacted and told, without preamble, to drop everything and say good-bye to their son while he still had a pulse.

Not a witch or wizard at Hogwarts, was going to save Draco. Nothing could stop the bleeding.

Malfoy's condition was so certain, no one gave thought to investigating Harry's story. As the medical staff rushed to help Draco, Harry's recount of the Death Eaters and taking shelter in the shack, barely went heard. No one asked for more information. The focus was on trying to stop the bleeding, discovering the curse that compromised Draco's life to begin with, and making sure Draco didn't suffer in his last moments.

Severus whispered to Dumbledore, "He's already gone. The potion is merely keeping his organs alive."

This revelation passed through Harry, who slumped, disbelieving it. They let him wait in the room where Draco was placed. He wasn't allowed near Draco's bed as Snape and two other wizards held wands over Draco. And when the Malfoy's arrived, Harry was escorted out of the room to give them privacy. Lucius, swollen and purple with outrage, didn't even seem to see Harry as he swept past him. But Narcissa saw Harry. Her red eyes caught his, searching for the truth. She looked at him, her neck turning to keep him in sight, as if one look could tell her if everyone was mistaken, as if Harry alone held the answer to whether or not she could continue to hope. He looked away.

Mahogany doors closed on the private moment as the Malfoys approached Draco's bed. Harry caught a glimpse of how perfect Draco's profile shaped itself in utter stillness. It was still beautiful, still something he wanted to put his lips to.

He dropped to one of the benches outside the infirmary. He ignored Snape's words and asked, in the privacy of his heart, for Draco to live. He didn't feel like Draco was dead. Maybe that's why it wasn't real to him. After their night together, that just felt impossible.

An ear-splitting crash stunned him from his thoughts. The doors to the infirmary burst on their hinges and Lucius stood in their center, raking his scowl over Harry. White hair, usually regal, flew in scattered strands about his head. Strings of it trembled, as his red face shook in Harry's direction. Spittle breached his thinned lips as he breathed out his anger the way a dragon breathed fire.

"You." The one word accused. "You were with him. You spent the entire night with him, I'm told."

Lucius's dignity broke into pieces. He shouted, "Did you know? Did you know about the curse?"

Harry thought that such a powerful man would make an effort to hide his tears, but he didn't. They showed, bright and glistening through his rage. Pride hung limply on his square shoulders, destroying the myth of his unyielding integrity. He raised his cane, black as onyx, and pointed it at Harry. "Draco is hemorrhaging to death. Why won't he stop bleeding? Why can't they stop it?"

He stepped with deliberated purpose towards Harry. His face smeared with mucus and tears. Harry saw him visibly swallow in an effort to talk through his pain. "You, you were with Draco. You were with him all night. Surely you know what has happened to my son. I know you have no liking for him, which makes it all the more unlikely that you two would collaborate to survive the night together. You took him out of the storm, didn't you? He was fine yesterday and now he simply won't stop bleeding."

Harry knew that he had to keep his mouth shut.

Tears fell from Lucius's chin. He grabbed Harry's collar, twisting, and brought his face within inches of Harry's.

"Tell me, Harry Potter, what did you do to my son?"

* * *

[To be continued. NO, Draco is not dead. I wouldn't do that to you. Readers, let me know if you're enjoying this story. Your comments give back.]


	7. Pensieve

As Lucius spat curses in his face, Harry couldn't speak. His self-preservation would not let him. All he could do was observe the many who came to his defense. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Madame Pomfrey, all drew their wands while Severus and the two medical wizards he assisted, physically restrained Lucius. With so many bearing witness, Harry saw that Luicus's grief cut him once and his humiliation cut him again. Snape and the others wrestled him out of the way. Harry heard Snape's urgent, low voice appeal to Lucius. "Draco needs you. Get his body home."

This allowed Lucius to get a handle on his composure. But his eyes filled with dark promise. This wasn't over. He pointed at Harry. "You can hide behind these people. You can hide behind your age, your so-called innocence. But you can't hide what you've done. Everyone in this room now knows enough about Draco's body to know what you did to him. And now they know what a coward you are, that you can't admit it. You can't take responsibility."

Hatred shook the words from his body. "I'm coming back for your arrest, Harry. The Ministry has a special pensieve for criminals like you." He shook Snape away from him, turned, and departed with his wife.

Harry stood reeling. Someone, he wasn't sure who, grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the corridor. Dumbledore and Snape were arguing. Minutes later, Harry sat in Dumbledore's office, facing the two of them. Dumbledore's voice came at him, gentle but authoritative as always.

"Now, Harry, You must level with us. Are we correct in assuming that you and Draco engaged in sexual congress last night?"

Snape hissed. "Don't give him the answers. Make him say it, the swine. Any child can stand there with that dumb look on his face and nod. Be a man and say it, Harry."

"That doesn't help, Severus."

Resentment rose up in Harry and stared Snape down.

"Go on," Snape pushed. "You were man enough to do it, be a man and say what you've done. While everyone's sticking their neck out for you, you can at least be honest."

Harry shook his head. Snape had no right to know such things. None of them did. Harry's words climbed out of him, bringing tears with them. He yelled, "I didn't meant to hurt him!"

They waited.

"We didn't plan on it, it just happened. It was private! We didn't know he would start bleeding."

Snape's scowl receded. Dumbledore stepped forward, putting his hand on Harry's chest. "Of course, my dear boy. I believe you. You haven't done anything wrong, Harry. It's not a crime for two students to give themselves to one another. Against school policy, perhaps, but not a crime. Most every adult here has partaken in that ritual at some point. Tell him, Severus, there was nothing he could've done about the curse."

Snape cleared his throat. "He could've stayed away from Draco, as I warned him to stay away."

"From what I gather, that would've only prolonged the outcome of an even greater tragedy. At least this way, you can treat Draco's body under the pretense that he is dead. With any luck, Voldemort will have no interest in his lifeless body. You can save him. We can then place him into hiding."

Had Harry heard correctly? "Hang on, is Draco alive or isn't he?"

Dumbledore looked at Snape, allowing him the honor of explaining to Harry. Snape took it, reluctantly. He placed his hands behind his back in a manner that demanded Harry listen and not waste his time.

"Draco's body is barely alive. He has no detectible brain function. By the time the Dark Lord sees him, he will appear utterly lifeless. He needs to be seen as dead. If I get to the body in time after that, I can revitalize the cells into activity. In theory, I can bring him out of that state. He could still die, but my potions are his best chance at survival."

Harry was on board. "Then, yes." He nodded. "Please, save Draco's life. Do whatever it takes."

"There's something else you should know. Draco was always going to bleed out. That's the nature of the curse upon him. It was designed to be triggered as Lucius's punishment. The Dark Lord was going to order Lucius to rape his son as a show of loyalty."

Harry's stomach fell through his guts. "Mr. Malfoy would've looked responsible for killing Draco."

"Precisely. A fitting punishment, to spend his last days in the most shameful grief imaginable."

Harry's mind slammed shut on that. That was too horrible to let in. He grabbed for the only ray of light he saw. "Save Draco. Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

Snape stepped back, allowing Dumbledore to resume authority. "Glad to hear it, Harry. Now, one thing must be clear. Lucius will make good on his threat. The Ministry will investigate. They will use your mind as their greatest evidence. But they are limited by what you're willing to show them. They will only be interested in one remaining question. Are you absolutely certain that what transpired between you and Draco, was entirely consensual between you both?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "I'm positive."

"Good, good. I don't doubt you, Harry, but perception is the key. You must be willing to give the Ministry pensieve honest memories, and hope that it will be enough to quiet Lucius's accusation. Once the legal matter is addressed, he can be upset all he likes at his son's choices. Once the Ministry sees Draco's consent, they will let you go free, Harry."

Harry nodded, feeling reassured. But somewhere, somehow, his stomach kept plummeting. Some part of him, his gut instinct, fell endlessly through a dark abyss of fear. He didn't think he could show anyone the memory of what he and Draco had done. It was still with him, still on him, and still so close to the surface. In fact, he felt to look at him was to see it. He could barely handle any of them looking directly at him at that moment. And then, even if he could show them what happened, how could a pensieve show them the moment of consent? That wasn't visible. That took place only in his and Draco's emotions. No one was going to see that.

***  
The legal viewing of Harry's memories took place three days after the Malfoy's took their son's body home. Only Ministry officials, Cornelius Fudge, Bernie Crouch, and key members of Ministry staff presided over the affair. Dumbledore and the Malfoys were permitted to witness the event.

Harry agreed to the potion offered to him, to help him open up as honestly as he knew how. Dumbeldore said it was a show of good faith. It showed he had nothing to hide. His part in the matter was actually brief. Each time Bernie asked him very specific, very pointed questions, his job was to answer with the memories corresponding to them. Court specialists used their wands to retrieve strands of his thoughts. At one point, one of them guided him through the full scope of his last day with Draco. When Fudge was satisfied, a court-standard pensieve rose from the floor. Hidden by tiles and grilling, it appeared like a black porcelain basin. Ephemeral liquid wafted inside, in anticipation of the thoughts it would be fed. The vaporous contents of the pensieve, spilled out into the room and lifted nebulously into the air around them, permitting all to enter Harry's most private memories.

Harry bowed his head and tried to disassociate from everything happening. The eternal passion of his and Draco's private war, was reduced to pragmatic, clock-time analysis. Harry was sure he would have no reason to look up and out into the room where he pinned Draco, where he lay on top of him, and where they kissed so deeply. The magic of that night was already spoiled by Draco's injury. This public invasion drove its glorious essence away more completely. Harry refused to look. Not until he heard Lucius's repeated outbursts.

Then he let himself see Draco in Fenrir's grip. Draco talking by the fire, Draco almost falling over the banister, against the wall, and beneath him. Hagrid, picking up Draco's body, was the last scene that played out for them. Fudge had to threaten to have Lucius removed for his outbursts several times.

By the time the lights brightened and the pensieve stowed itself away, members of the court found it difficult to proceed. Fudge himself rested his forehead on his fingers in contemplative silence. Dumbledore waited patiently, while Bernie conferred with his staff.

Only Lucius stood and shouted, "What are you waiting for! You saw it. You saw my son crying. You saw him, wandless, unable to defend himself. At no point did he consent. He fought! At no point did he give this filthy spawn permission to touch him. I don't know what all of you saw, but I saw my son being humiliated and raped! I want justice. If you don't lock Harry up, I'll kill him."

Wizarding security quickly stepped in. At first their efforts to quiet Lucius, was respectful. Affronted, Lucius lunged to get to Harry. "I'll kill you, Harry Potter! I'll kill you."

Harry listened to his shouts as they drug him out of the courtroom. His voice echoed off the walls of the corridor outside. His rage followed Harry deep into his shame. Harry was not ashamed to have spent the night with Draco, he was clear on that. He just wasn't okay with everyone seeing it. He had nothing to hide, but Draco… They saw things Draco would die before letting anyone see. In that sense, he felt he had betrayed Draco most of all. Draco's tears and fears had been entrusted to him and no one else.

Fudge called for a short break and Harry was asked to wait outside under guard. Inside the courtroom, the mater was already decided by Fudge. "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know what the hell that was, but it fit no legal description of coercion or rape that I've ever heard of. Confusing, yes. Illegal, no. It is outside the scope of this trial to determine the sanity of these boys. Now, if they have invented some new form of crime, which I doubt, I'd say it would be a waste of time to pursue charges over the matter. However, there will be pending investigation concerning the curse placed upon Draco Malfoy. All in favor of lifting the allegation against Potter?"

All attending raised their hands.


	8. Black Party

Draco did not return to school. Harry waited for him, unable to convince Snape to give him any information. He cornered Snape in his office. "It's been three weeks. What can you tell me about Draco?"

Snape made Harry wait four seconds longer than necessary before lifting his eyes from his notes. His drawn expression reminded Harry that he was the Professor and Harry the student.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized for barging in. "I'm just going crazy wondering about him. If you could give me something to go on…"

"I've already told you. Draco is alive and recovering. To say anything more only puts him at risk."

"Will he return to school? If he's been placed into hiding, maybe I could see him? He'll want to talk to me. If he's ok, he'll want to know why I did what I did with the pensieve. I have to explain to him -"

"Silence." Snape glared. "He's out of your reach. His recovery was planned that way."

"Just tell me if he's at home, or if Voldemort knows that he survived?"

Snape stood. "You're alive. He's alive. You need to be satisfied with that."

"Well, I'm not. I need to see him. I was covered in his blood. I thought I'd killed him. I deserve to see him alive and well."

"Keep your voice down. Realize, Potter, that your desire to see Draco, is a very selfish one. It is born of pure arrogance to have what you want when you want it."

"You would say that. You hate me for no reason."

Snape leapt the distance between them, grabbing Harry's robe. He shoved Harry backwards, pushing him through the door. "Insufferable brat. If I hated you, I would give you the exact coordinates to Draco's whereabouts right now. Use that wasted brain of yours to figure out that not only does the Dark Lord know Draco's alive, but he's allowing it in hopes of luring you to come to him. The minute he gets his hands on you, Draco's usefulness will be at an end. And you will be tortured to death. How much more harm do you want to cause?"

Harry felt sick. "You seem to know a lot. Which side are you on?"

"The side that's keeping you alive." Snape let these words settle into Harry before turning on his heel and slamming his office door.

He had to talk to someone. Dumbeldore wasn't available and his closest friends, Ron and Hermoine, weren't the likeliest people to understand. Together, they had all three spent the last six years dogging Malfoy in what they considered to be retaliation. There was no way he could confide what happened with him and Draco. All they knew was that he did get trapped with Draco on the night the Death Eaters attacked. And some terrible curse almost caused Draco to die. Harry hoped it underscored that he couldn't hate Draco the way he once did. Not after watching him suffer like that.

Late one night in the common room, he blurted to them, "I have to break into the Malfoy floo system. I need to know how."

Ron had talked Heroine into a game of chess. He knew it wasn't her favorite and seemed particularly annoyed at Harry for bringing up something that took her completely out of the game. Her expression said it all. That was the stupidest idea on record, in a thousand-year history of stupid ideas.

Ron agreed, "That's suicide, Harry. Malfoy's not worth all that."

Hermoine was more adamant. "Harry, the floo network doesn't belong to the Malfoys. It's an infrastructure that wizards and witches are privileged to use communally. The Malfoys simply have a floo address along the network. I'm sure it's heavily guarded and enchanted for protection."

"Yes, but if other people are coming and going on the Malfoy property, then I could too. I have my cloak to keep me hidden."

"The cloak can't hide you from security spells."

"I've thought about that. I know how to get into the Ministry by floo. I can dig around in someone's schedule, maybe Fudge's assistant, find a reasonable appointment with Mr. Malfoy, and ride shotgun at the appropriate time and place. Invisible."

"It won't work. You could still be detected as an unidentified threat. If you get trapped there, you're done for."

"Then help me figure out how to get in."

They both looked disbelievingly at him. Ron shrugged, "Why are you willing to risk your life for Draco?"

"Yeah, Harry, we get it. You were the one who saw him like that. You were the one who got him to Hagrid and saved his life. But you're not responsible for him."

He let them look at him as if he were crazy. A part of him wondered if he could just tell them. "I spent the night with him. We talked. It changed the way I see him. He's worth saving."

Ron and Hermoine looked doubtful. When Harry slumped against the couch, Hermoine added, "Even if you could successfully get into the Malfoy's home, it's dark territory and you've no business going there."

"If I could just apparate into Draco's room or something, for five minutes, the risk would be minimal. Maybe Dobby could get me in."

"Harry! What's gotten into you? You don't want to be in Lucius's territory for any reason. Promise me you won't go breaking in like that."

He couldn't make that promise. "Malfoy is in more trouble than anybody knows."

"And so will you be, if you try this. You can't save everyone, Harry."

She stared him down. He bit his lip on saying anything more. If he kept talking, all the events in their entirety were going to fall out of him. He had to stop justifying what he wanted to do and just do it.

With Draco's absence, the skies grew darker and Voldemort's reach grew longer. Dumbledore disappeared and reappeared sporadically throughout term, giving Harry cryptic messages and clues pertaining to the destruction of horcruxes. Suddenly, more responsibility was openly thrust upon Harry to help in this matter. Umbridge, a newly appointed Headmaster, took over Dumbledore's role and completely and suppressed all activities. This forced Harry to train himself and others in secret.

The darkest day came when Professor Snape appeared to attack Dumbledore on top of the astronomy tower. Harry had been warned to allow this drama to play out. This was his cue to finish the destruction of horcruxes while Snape's hostile takeover as Headmaster, bought him the time he needed to do it.

He set off to find and destroy the hidden objects containing portions of Voldemort's soul.  
He wasn't alone. Ron and Hermoine joined him in the hunt. And when Voldemort's Death Eaters found them hiding in the woods, all three were captured and taken to the Malfoy Manor.

Lucius waited for Draco to open his eyes. When he finally did, his irises appeared faded and washed of their vividness. Two house elves waited in attendance at the foot of his bed. He had roused in and out of sleep for days. The last round of therapy to counter the Unbearable curse, left him weak and barely responsive. It was as if, in order to reverse the process, Draco had to also undergo the suppression of his awareness, in reverse. Since no actual counter curse existed, the process was experimental at best. Between the same wizards who inflicted it, and Snape's concoctions, Draco's body was finding recovery and equilibrium. After weeks, the curse still wasn't done with him. But for now, his body was its natural self.

When his head turned on the pillow, the two elves straightened, ready to be called upon at any moment by their master.

Lucius smiled at Draco. "Good news. We've caught Harry Potter."

Cloudy confusion reflected back at him in Draco's face.

"The Dark Lord is most pleased. There will be a gathering. He want's you to attend."

Draco wasn't sure if moving his head from side to side, was really making himself understood. He felt trapped in his body.

"Now, Draco. I know you don't approve of his methods, but this means the end is in sight for us. All we have to do is deliver Potter, and the Dark Lord will have no more use for us. We'll be free. You mustn't get emotional about his victims."

"Harry …"

"I know. He can't hurt you. I know what happened. I saw everything. You were harassed and half-frozen when you were trapped with him that night. You didn't know what you were doing and he damn sure didn't care. Others can excuse his behavior, but I won't forgive it."

"Don't hurt him."

Lucius had to lean closer to the bed. "You can't possibly feel sorry for him. Yes, Voldemort will be merciless, but I have to live with the memory of seeing my son treated like a whore. I will not let him get away with that. Voldemort has chosen me to meet out Harry's punishment. If I please him, he is willing to forget all the rest. The fact that Snape and I kept you alive, the fact that Harry got to you first. All forgiven."

Draco strained to break through his own lethargy. He recognized the fear he felt as a now or never moment. There was nothing he hated more than the fear that controlled his whole family. "I let him. I let Harry do it."

Lucius shut his eyes on his disgust. Disgust at knowing Draco would give into his feelings. "You were under a lot of stress. You didn't know what you were saying then and you don't now. Do you know how hard I've worked to see us through this? I can't prostrate myself enough to prove I'm loyal to him. I can't kill enough people to prove it. I can't ruin enough lives. The least you can do is realize that I'm doing this for all of us. Have the decency to hate what Harry has done to you as much as I do. Look at what we've gone through for him."

"He hasn't done anything. Voldemort is the cause of this. Harry didn't start this. You're taking it out on him because you're angry with Voldemort and me."

Lucius stood. "Then how unfortunate to be him. I only have one son. I've invested all that I am into him. Draco, you're my legacy. You're my empire. Harry Potter is not to come anywhere near you. He will suffer tonight. You will be made to watch. Let it teach you the consequences of bringing bad blood anywhere near this family."

He turned to the two silent elves standing at attention. "You two, Milli and Vanilli, stay with Draco. See that he is given whatever he requires to attend this evening's affair. Do what he asks."

They bowed.

He turned back to Draco. "Be ready. Steel yourself against what you know is coming. Lily and Jame's son had the option of not touching you and he ignored it. He's made his choice."

Harry awakened on what felt like cool stone beneath him. He opened his eyes to a white, cavernous room, darkened by ornate furnishings. Above him, the ceiling stretched out of reach and windows were spelled to distort the light. Heavy black curtains lined in blistering green silk, outlined the room from corner to corner. Looking past his feet, he saw Ron and Hermoine sitting on the floor facing him. They were half the room's distance away. When he tried to call to them, not only could he not talk, but they didn't even respond like they saw him.

Their faces were expressionless, but Harry recognized the tension behind them as being a spell to keep them still. He deduced that he himself had been rendered unable to speak. He could make noises. He heard his voice and felt the muscles in his throat and mouth expel sound and air. But the formation of words sounded completely unintelligible.

That's when he noticed that the room was filled with empty chairs and cushioned benches. Candles hovered throughout. There was a seconding landing above, like an open library, and surrounding banisters dripped tapestries of Death Eater emblems onto the ground floor. Soft music came through the walls. A little creature, a house elf, swept passed him, spelling mirrors and chandeliers to a sparkling shine. The desperation to move, had his arms and legs flexing against the floor. Again, he could move, but not with any coordination and certainly not with any directed strength. It was all reactionary. He pushed so hard to get his body to sit up that it felt like one of those dreams where he simply could not run when he needed to the most. A weird slow-motion paralysis.

He knew where he was. He knew what was about to happen.

Lucius had the honor of delivering Harry to the Dark Lord, himself. Although Hermoine, at the last minute, cast a genius disfigurement spell on Harry to conceal his identity, Lucius was able to see through it. He not only removed the spell but spell-bound Harry and his friends on the floor across from one another so they could watch. He put a lot of thought into how he wanted to humiliate the boy before killing him. Harry belonged to Voldemort. While Lucius was going to play a critical role in his death, he was under orders to do so in a very specific way.

The Dark Lord had insisted, "Harry is mine. The fact that he triggered Draco's death, and not you, presents a rather difficult conundrum. Do I kill Draco myself, to rectify your punishment? Or do I allow you your revenge, to escort Harry to the brink of death?"

Lucius dared not speak.

"On the other hand, Harry's assertion has revealed to me that I am betrayed by you and Severus. A matter I will deal with in time."

"He's my son."

"I am your Lord."

"Let Draco live. Take my life instead."

"Perhaps later. For now we have a very powerful boy wizard on our hands. Celebrations are in order. I want to make a show of his ending. Killing him outright would be a tragic waste of magic. I'm wondering how fitting it would be to allow you your revenge on him."

Hope ignited in Lucius. "Go on."

"I've seen the worst you can do to a man, Lucius. Your gifts are unique. I am keeping you alive for that reason. That, left alone in a room with Harry, is what I want to see."

"I'm to torture him?"

"I will let you be the one to defile Harry only if your vengeance is as demanding as my own. Prolong his shame until he is so dehumanized, even a dementor would find nothing left to take from him. I want his magic. As he lay dying, I want to feed on the gusts of power being pumped from his soul, into a body that is too damaged to survive. There is energy in those last desperate moments, that are not given in eighty years of life. Bring him to that point for me, and I will spare Draco's life. I will allow his recovery to take place."

"I will. Gladly."

All Death Eaters have skills. In the topmost hierarchy among them, the ability to reward or punish through flesh, was a prerequisite. When Voldemort wanted assassinations, he chose the most sociopathic of his followers. When he wanted ruthless sadism, he chose Lucius. Two decades ago, Lucius won his rank by performing the Lord's commands with the stoniest exactitude. Black Parties were forced affairs, ripe with challenge and blackmail. To be seen at one could be incriminating.

The old were paired with the young, the ugly with the beautiful, the willing with the unwilling. Couples were routinely expected to submit to others. And more than once, Lucius left husbands crying on the floor beside their wives, for the sport of all. These events typically took place in estate homes or secret locations. Tonight, Lucius had the honor of hosting it in his home.

As a Malfoy, he was bred to know his power over others. As a wizard, he learned early on to exploit those who threw themselves at him. Named after the fallen angel, Lucifer, his personal magic thrived in stroking the starved desires of others until they lost all defenses against him. Bringing men and women to the threshold of their tolerance, and going further, became his specialty. He did not have sex with people. He hijacked their bodies and flooded them with his own dark intentions.

Intimacy became a weapon for him. Those attracted to him became classified as usable or useless. Anyone stupid enough to put their trust in his beauty, deserved to have their magic pour out of them like blood.

Every wizard tests his abilities. Long before the Dark Lord called upon him, Lucius adapted ligilimancy to invade the nervous system as well as the mind. The more masochistic wizards and witches waited in line to have their bodies short-circuited by his magic, if he deemed them worthy of his time. Most were forced to make do with rumors, while those who actually had something he wanted, a vote, persuasion, influence, etc., experienced his expertise firsthand.

He quickly learned that people were their most vulnerable when they were jerking blindly beneath him. He studied how they gave up everything for a few seconds of bliss. While they left their souls unguarded, he learned to pull on the strands of their life-force. Turned out, magic leaked from people at these times. It spilled out into their auras, infused their sweat, and gathered in concentrated essence, in their sexual fluids. They gave him their magic without realizing it.

His flawless appearance bellied equivalent sins. If he chose, he could connect to someone through his or her attraction to him. He could apply strategic pressure of thought, to ringed muscles deep inside a man's rectum, cause his bowels to lock in muscular contractions that pressed on the inner walls, and release a stream of seminal fluid on the spot.

He became so adept at drawing on the strings attaching the body to its magic, he learned to assault people from across the room. It was just a matter of using their magic against them. At mild levels, the fools actually mistook their manipulation for attraction. At dangerous levels, men died from heart attacks, soaked in painful ejaculates they could not prevent or stop. Dry ejaculates were the most exciting to watch. When the body is dehydrated and has no more liquid to give, stores within the soul open up to try to keep the body alive. That magic was real and made Lucius understand Voldemort's ability to feed from it.

As daylight darkened, the Malfoy Manor brightened in candlelight ambience. Extra light was provided in the three-story hall, to display the decorated floor below. Hostages, Harry and his friends, suffered only mild tortures to keep Bellatrix and other Death Eaters busy till dinner was served in the next room.

Over a hundred guests had turned out on short notice, but those hundred would not miss this for the world. Not because they were blood-thirsty, but because, like Lucius, they were trapped by Harry's life-span. They were caught in traps that held them in bondage to Voldemort until he came into the full power he wanted. Some of them even felt sorry for Harry, but none risked freeing him. Private prayers were in fact said, to let him die as quickly and painlessly as possible. Most kept their Death Eater masks on, and Harry never recognized the many who walked around him, viewing him as if he were already a corpse on display. Guests were encouraged to touch him. A few readily jumped at the treat, remarking how generous Voldemort was being.

Ron and Hermoine remained unmoving, facing forward on the floor. Chairs were arranged behind them, to allow for the Dark Lord, who wanted them in front of him while he watched. As a special honor, he requested to have Draco seated to his right. This was no honor to Draco who, weakly, complied. The elves had helped him dress for the party. His wand had been taken away and the bitter taste of tea his mother demanded he drink, left him knowing full well he'd been sedated into receptivity. He didn't fight it because he didn't have the physical strength to fight. And he agreed, if he had to watch, being sedated was better. But he had a plan. And if he didn't survive it, at least Harry would.

Turned out, the Dark Lord wanted him beside him, to humiliate him even further. Draco barely had time to cringe from the proceedings when he felt cold, rough fingers ghosting across his leg. They clawed into the zipper of his crotch and found what they wanted. He instantly understood that Voldemort was checking, in his own cruel way, to see if he was restored to his former self. He was. But between the horror unfolding, and his repulsion at Voldemort, the Lord met with a disinterested response. He played with Draco anyway, laughing, "That's okay, my boy. Keep watching. You'll see something that gets your interest yet."

He was suddenly very grateful for his mother's drugs.

Draco looked around the room for the two house elves in his command. Orders from Narcissa, to attend to guests and kitchen needs superceded the orders Draco had given them. But they had to show up. Lucius hadn't realized the power he'd given Draco when he told the elves to do whatever he wanted. It was Draco's intention that the creatures use their strengths where he could not. He only hoped they showed up in time.

The creatures did not show up in time. At first Draco was free to turn his head or look down. When Voldemort caught him avoiding Harry's torture, he threatened, "If I have to hex you to keep your eyes forward, I will rip this lovely appendage off and I will kill the girl."

So he watched, and he saw it.

On the floor, Harry's athletic body was no match for the mature wizard holding him down. Lucius had lifted the spell, allowing Harry enough movement to struggle, to keep things exciting. Lucius had rage on his side. He omitted the use of his wand in order to mold Harry's suffering with his bare hands. The boy was strong and he liked that. It meant Harry could take a lot. Good, because he had a lot to dish out.

His first and most decisive decision was to take Harry on his back. It was an aesthetic choice. He wanted Harry to look at him while it was being done. See who was doing it and to know why. Also, Harry would have a great view of his friend's horrified faces at the same time.

Lucius remained fully dressed as he tore at Harry's clothes. Harry's shirt appeared to disintegrate under his hands. Wide palms raked Harry's jeans undone and tore them down the front of his stomach, exposing a dark trail of hair ensconcing his privates. His penis spilled into view. His body tried to fold to conceal the sight, but Lucius pushed his thighs to the floor, allowing everyone a good look.

"Not bad, Potter." Lucius was going to make a joke about 'the boy who lived,' but Harry's penis darkly reminded him of what Draco must've endured. He wasn't laughing when he pulled Harry by his thighs, jerked them up around his hips, and undid his own pants.

This wasn't going to be the best part. This was just something that needed to be done. A preliminary. Being a Death Eater had taught Lucius how to let his anger do the work for him. He lusted, not for Harry's body, but for his screams. He lusted to see the panic in the boy's face when he saw what Lucius pulled out of his own pants. He lusted for revenge.

Breaking and entering was always an apt description of taking a man for the first time. Such fight ignited in Harry, that masked Death Eaters joined to subdue him and hold him steady. No one was going to take away the delicious fight Lucius wanted from him. That was fuel. Easing the silencing spell, Harry's sobs were allowed their freedom.

Some wizards were squeamish about fucking a male. Lucius could not understand this, unless they feared power. Any wizard worth his salt knew enough spells to render any disease or bacteria irrelevant. Harry's young body practically poured in lithe agony beneath him. His glasses had flown somewhere, his shirt still clung to him, but through the rips, his chest inflamed with the energy Lucius pushed into him. Suddenly all that black hair crashing against his face, made sense. He was beautiful. But it was a dark beauty that Lucius could only see when he drove into the boy. To his excitement, Harry began using breath control to manage the pain. Here was a boy who wanted to survive.

A person's guts can be plunged through muscular force. Lucius knew this. He wanted to get this over with, to get to the good part. But he had to finish this the right way. The first energy seal within the body, sits between the anus and genitals. Pump it with one's own energetic field, and it will climb up a man's torso and out his spine, taking his sanity with it. In this way Lucius pumped into Harry's energy, the energy surrounding his whole body, and dominated it. Each thrust built on the spike of the last, flooding the chemical connectivity of each cell in a chain reaction of pulses. These became shocks that went to Harry's brain, signaling his body to hold its building charge. It built and built, causing tissue to expand in places he could not name. The harshness of Lucius's thrusts fell away to his veins melting in their own endorphins.

Lucius could feel Harry's hatred of the pleasure rolling deep in his quivering gut. He knew that an inexperienced boy of Harry's age could never understand how this pleasure was possible in the face of so much shame. He pushed it up and out of Harry, forcing the wet to spill through. He pushed, unwilling to slow through Harry's spasms. He pushed through Harry's core, bursting the first seal of his energy, and allowing himself to spill through.

As if rehearsed, Lucius moved away from Harry the moment he was able. A group of new Death Eaters took their places surrounding Harry, whose body was still shaking impossible, watery fluid from him. Mercifully, their wants afforded him some privacy when they began to glow over his body. A light formed over Harry, concealing him partially.

The only thing that kept Draco watching, was Voldemort's threat. That, and he understood what they were doing to Harry. He was about to see, what had been done to himself, be done to Harry. He didn't want to see. But he could not look away from the bizarreness of it. After everything he'd been through, he couldn't process that it was really possible, so he had to stare it down. If he couldn't help Harry in any other way, he would try to bear the pain with him, by looking it dead in the face and screaming the screams that Harry could not. He vowed, in that moment to see Harry through this. It was the only way he could ever be forgiven for being witness to it.

Of course, the wizards were not careful, as they had been with Draco. Of course, they were not concerned with Harry's health or the outcome. They wanted the change and they wanted it fast. As a result, Draco was certain Harry suffered much worse than he did. At one point, he prayed that it would just kill Harry, rather than mutilate him. But neither happened. The Dark Lord was beginning to express his impatience when the wizards lowered their wands.

Everyone in the room adjusted their eyes to the space between Harry's legs, whether they wanted to or not. Ron saw it. Hermoine saw it. Draco saw it. To show his approval, Voldemort's hand grew aggressive on Draco. "Excellent, excellent. The finest work. Lucius, don't hold back. I've asked them to take the pain down a notch so that Harry can enjoy his new acquisition. Demonstrate for us, Lucius, how responsive his new flesh is."

Draco had only to see his father approach Harry, before he had to look away. Voldemort released him, but grabbed him by the neck. "This is what you will watch."

Harry's body lacked the preparation given to Draco's body. He appeared natural, but just as endowed. Whether those looking experienced disgust or not, the obscenity they saw, lay in its female accuracy, and nothing else. Where Draco had been smooth, fully visible, and pale, Harry was softly-dark, mysterious, and hidden. It was a powerful magic. Horrible, but powerful. All eyes strained to make out the details of something not one of them would ever see again. Draco used the distraction to cover himself.

Lucius did what was expected. He touched Harry, exposed him, and held him open for everyone's curiosity. When everyone was satisfied at how thorough the curse was, he bent to show them how well it worked. His tongue, disappearing into the formation between Harry's legs, caused even the Death Eaters to gasp. It was like watching someone take electrodes to Harry's body. His spine lifted from the shock and other Death Eaters stepped in to hold him down again.

Draco began to cry and Voldemort gripped the hair at the back of his head. "You've no reason to cry. You of all people should know how good that feels."

Through his tears, Draco searched the room for his elves. He begged them to come.

No one could tell if Harry was conscious or not. Lucius licked sounds from him that didn't sound human. Movement appeared purely involuntary. Lucius proved that he could cause the female form to drain of it's energy equivalent to that of the male. He produced secretions from Harry, less visible, but apparent to all who traced their translucent dew down his moving thigh. Harry's abdomen shook as Lucius sucked infused skin, pulling and feasting on it. He tasted deeper and deeper, sending dark intention into Harry's body. Harry's stomach rose and fell as he absorbed a tumult of energy. He stuck, captive, in paralyzing convulsions, beneath Lucius's inability to get enough.

"Do you see that?" Voldemort asked. "That's part of the spell. If Harry could survive this, he would thank me. Your father tastes the reason why any man would want to do this. It's old magic. It goes deeper than appearances and I made sure, for this occasion, that it filled Harry."

It went on and on, until Draco was certain that Harry lay in shock.

Lucius lost himself in the act so much, Voldemort had to remind him what they were all there for. "I think it's time, Lucius."

Draco, like everyone, assumed that Lucius would simply fall on Harry and take him again. But Lucius lifted Harry against him, indulged in a gluttonous kiss, and drew Harry in front of him, facing his audience. Harry's eyes were closed, but the crease in his brow told Draco there was some consciousness. Lucius pushed Harry's legs over his own and entered him vaginally, from behind. No amount of magic hid the whimper that escaped Harry. At this, Draco's vow failed, and he collapsed in tears. Absolutely nothing was hidden from view. The sight of Lucius moving in and out of Harry, was too much.

Beside him, Voldemort laughed, "You're missing the best part. Nothing can save Harry's life now."

Draco never saw anymore of it. But he heard it. Heard the sounds that Lucius's thrusts forced out of Harry. Heard when Harry's body gained enough consciousness to cry out. And heard the unforgettable groans that spiked through Lucius when he came. Magic twisted in the air, pulled from all of them, as Lucius used it to fill Harry's core with the energy of his own power.

Draco cursed himself and cursed his father. A gentle nudge on his leg made him open his eyes.  
Through a smudged film of tears, Milli, his house elf, appeared at his knee. Trained to be discreet, especially in the presence of outsiders, she waited on him to notice her. When he did, he looked to see that the other servant elf was in position. Amid the robes of tall Death Eaters, the little creature, Vanilli went unnoticed on the far side of Lucius and Harry.

Draco blinked at him twice. Milli slipped his wand into his hand. He only had time to get one of the bastards in this room. In his planning, he thought it would be Voldemort. Not a killing curse, because he didn't believe he could kill Voldemort, but something crippling enough to buy the elves time. He hoped to be strong enough to apparate Harry the hell out of there, but he wasn't. He would be dead before he ever crossed the room to Harry. So in the end, he hit his father with the most crippling spell he knew. The Cruciatus. He didn't care if they caught him and killed him. But Milli was fast. She had been told by her master to do whatever Draco wanted. And Draco wanted to apparate. She took him. Vanilli stayed behind to sneak Harry's friends their wands and apparate them all to a safe place. In the seconds it took to sort out the confusion, Harry's body would be gone.


	9. Epilogue: Lineage

Port, the temperature of the room, shook in Lucius's unsteady hands. The tremors came and went, a by-product of living among dementors for six months. He didn't tremble as much as he had a month ago, so he knew he would be back to his old self again, with time. The man standing over him, blocking his view of autumn's last light on the garden, would do well to know that too.

The Daily Prophet slapped down on Lucius's mahogany desk. He looked at the photo of the wizard reluctantly accepting another accolade forced upon him, then back at the new Minister of Magic

Fifty pounds thinner, and feeling twenty years older, he barely had the patience to suffer this intrusion. His home, now a pittance left to him by Draco, had become his refuge. In his study, he was trying to regroup, trying to navigate legal clauses concerning properties and holdings, as well as salvage his marriage. He was not interested in that wizard. Not anymore.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"We, at the Ministry, believe Harry to be a critical player in our wizarding community. We are still receiving prophecies about him."

"I thought that Trelawney bat lost her mind years ago."

"She did, but she has produced disturbingly accurate information of late. Information that concerns you. The Ministry requests a private conference."

"I'm a criminal, remember? You can't trust me with Ministry affairs."

"If you cooperate in this matter, your record may be forgiven, and your assets restored to some degree."

This made Lucius sit up. Instead of approaching the topic with the gratefulness of hope that other wizards might've had, he sneered. "What on earth would cause the Ministry to forgive my crimes?"

"Your help. Are you aware of your son's whereabouts?"

"What's this got to do with Draco? He's off studying some arcane potions making with the natives of Balise. That was the last he told me."

"Your son lives with Harry Potter here in England, and has since their escape a year and a half ago. They share a muggle apartment and appear to live dual lives in the wizarding and muggle worlds."

"Draco, a muggle home? With actual muggle neighbors? You're out of your mind."

The Minister tossed down another photo. It had been taken with a zoom lens and featured Draco's mop of white hair blowing as he stood in open daylight, at a mailbox in front of a brick establishment. He held a grocery sack in one hand and a sling attached to his chest. Behind him, Harry waited at the entrance. The only thing more unsettling than Draco in a muggle setting, was the blue sling around his chest. It extended from his neck, went around his waist and protruded slightly.

"See anything unusual?"

"Everything about this is unusual. Get to the point."

"The child in the photo. We believe that's your grandchild."

Lucius's first instinct was to laugh. He closed his eyes on the irony. "There's a child in this picture?"

"Your son has the infant in the sling."

"Well, you can't see it very well." He squinted at the picture. "If Draco has a child, I assure you, he would've told me."

"Not if he literally had a child with the wizard who sent you to prison. Not if this child resulted from the curse you allowed Voldemort to inflict upon him."

"That's absurd. Draco's body recovered from that curse."

"Or did it? From my understanding, your son nearly lost his life because of the instability of the curse. It caused his body to change sporadically. Are you certain that just because he appeared whole the last time you saw him, he has not had a reoccurrence of the episode? He was, after all, Voldemort's experiment."

This dissolved the smug confidence on Lucius's face.

"Look closely, Mr. Malfoy. Here's a blow up. You can see the edge of the child's face."

The larger picture revealed only a tiny cheek and a tuft of white hair peeking out of the sling.

"That proves nothing. If they're living muggle lives and playing muggle house, it stands to reason they'd adopt themselves a muggle pet."

"That's no pet. That's your granddaughter, the blood daughter between Draco and Harry." He emphasized his point by placing a third picture in front of Lucius. This wasn't like the others, a sleek image printed on paper. This photo appeared three-dimensional and life-like. In it, a young, stunning white-haired witch emerged into view wearing a cloak so dark, it appeared spelled with added blackness. Against it, especially when she turned to model it, her long hair fell in silvery-white sheets that reflected the light. She laughed at herself, but no sound came from the photo.

Lucius was enchanted. "Same child?"

"Age sixteen. That's a prophecy photo, adapted through a pensieve from Trelawney's mind herself. You are looking at the most influential witch predicted in our foreseeable two hundred years. Voldemort's death disturbed the wizarding timeline enough to cause an insurgence of magical influence. The Ministry can hardly keep up with the prophecies of children born after the war, who will change the course of the wizarding world. She is one of them. She is, in fact, prophesized to lead them."

"Another politician in the family. Great."

"She's more than that. Trelawney says she comes to us out of great need. She appears as a young girl, but she is an advanced soul, and before this is all over with, the wizarding world will recognize that. She will be loved. She will bridge the worlds of muggles and wizards."

Lucius snorted. "Well, I already don't like her."

"It makes sense. Our world is changing. The incoming generation will not need to fight a Dark Lord, though they may face rival influences."

"What do you want from me?"

"Don't tell me, the daughter of your only son, your granddaughter, predicted to come to great power, does not interest you."

"So what if it does?"

"If it does, we implore you to come to the Ministry and learn more. Let's just say, we have prophecies of prophecies, as you well know. We have details of how the future is affected by what you and I discuss today. It is of benefit to us both to keep a close eye on Draco and Harry. You would do well to attempt to restore your relationship with your son. We want you to consider it, for everyone's sake."

"You sound scared. What did you see in Trelawney's gibberish? Another war?"

"We saw something far more unsettling, Mr. Malfoy. A queen. A witch queen. And when she peered back into the history regarding her birth, she did not like what she saw."

Now, Lucius was intrigued. "What did they name her?"

"Iece."

Before he could roll his eyes, Lucius knew instantly why she was named so. It was the hair, of a silvery quality like ice. No doubt a powerful witch, in infant form, could place the name gently in the mind of her doting father. In the photograph, she twirled in her cloak, spinning the light off of her beautiful hair, symbolic of cold power. He already understood this bitch. She did have his son's good looks. Nothing dark about her, except that splendid black cloak.

Lucius dismissed the Minister and stared at the photo long into the evening. By morning, he was sure of two things. One, he would pay his son a visit in his humble little muggle apartment. And two, the sixteen year-old queen in the photograph was wearing the cloak that currently hung in his own wardrobe. It swallowed her thin shoulders, but he recognized the gold snakes embroidered at each end of the collar. So she adored her grandfather's heirloom gift, did she? She did emulate a certain authority in it. As she twirled proudly, Lucius relished his foresight to have paid a small fortune on the cloak's superior craftsmanship. It was fit for a queen.

Draco and Harry never agreed to see Lucius. This is why he stopped sending owls and started hiring muggle drivers to park outside of their home while he watched the coming and goings of their lives. Apparently, Harry counseled troubled young wizards for the Ministry while Draco looked after the infant. Seeing that the baby was only months old, Lucius realized their lives were in no way set with routine. But it was a start. No one at the Ministry could confirm if Harry and Draco had arranged some sort of marriage, and the idea sickened Lucius.

He kept his distance, at first. But no matter how much muggle drivers were paid, they always looked suspicious of innocent observers asking to park for hours outside of houses. Eventually, Lucius bought the home across the street from Harry's apartment. He had no use for it, but it gave him and Narcissa cover when they wanted to see their grandchild without frightening the boys. They could've aggressively sued for visiting rights. He wanted to, but Narcissa talked him out of it.

"If you fight them, they'll take that child so far away from us, she'll never know us."

Give Harry time to heal, was her reasoning. "You did hurt him. Give him his distance."

Lucius knew she was right. What he didn't tell her was that Harry's magic destroyed Voldemort, so how hurt could a wizard that powerful be? He remembered laying on the freezing slabs in Azkaban thinking about it. Harry should've bled out the way Draco did. The wizards who saved Draco, were still in Azkaban. Harry survived and recovered his masculinity. How? Snape wasn't around to save him, even if Snape could reverse the curse. That curse was meant to kill Harry that night.

No, Lucius did not feel sorry for the most powerful wizard, currently not known to the wizarding world. Oh, everyone worshipped him as some sort of hero. But Lucius knew it was all about blood. And the fact that his blood mingled with Draco's to produce an heir, well, maybe Harry came from better stock than Lucius thought. Or maybe his blood dominated Harry's recessive genes. That's why Iece was so fair.

His granddaughter certainly deserved a better upbringing. An apartment? Really?  
The more he waited around in that matchbox of a house, the more Narcissa spoke of brightening it and making it comfortable. When she started packing bags and expecting them to sleep there, Lucius decided to make his stand.

He waited till the small blue muggle vehicle had gone, leaving the small white one. That typically said that Harry was gone for the morning and wouldn't be back for hours. That would give him plenty of time to reason with Draco, and hopefully, catch a glimpse of his grandchild.

He made a point of wearing the cloak she would one day wear, and crossed the muggle street. If anyone saw him, if anyone thought him out of place, with his otherworldly expensiveness, and long pale hair fastened behind his head, he dared them to say it to his face.

He did not announce himself when the person behind the door asked. He knew it would open. Harry and Draco had become accustomed to their trusting muggle neighbors. He even saw Draco take in another's child for a whole day once. That was disturbing. Draco could hardly take care of his own, let alone someone else's. He knew because he'd seen through the windows. Their apartment was often in shambles. Draco's long limbs often curled beside the baby on their muggle couch, in front of their muggle television, and Draco would burry his head in his arms and cry for hours.

He stopped that line of thought when the door flew open. It wasn't Draco looking back at him, it was Harry.

It would've been nice, if the two of them could've reached a civil agreement. It would've been nice to have been forgiven and invited into the home of his son's apparent husband. That's what he was calling Harry anyway. All of that would've been acceptable in light of new circumstances. But when he and Harry recognized each other, they were back in that room at the manor. Terror filled Harry's expression. Memory assaulted him. And Lucius was back in control. Before Harry could slam the door in his face, before he reeled out of Lucius's grip to turn and run, Lucius saw that his wand was no where in sight. This, and the fear in Harry's eyes, was enough to lure him to chase.

Maybe he would've stood his ground and fought, if he didn't have a new daughter to protect. Lucius thought about that.

He didn't intend to intrude. He didn't intend to cause Harry to run to the infant. To grab it from its crib and lock himself in that tiny muggle bathroom. It was only when he heard the banging of a stuck window, that he suspected Harry was going to risk putting the baby outside before following it, that he broke down the door. Having accomplished that, and knowing full well what the destruction looked like to Harry's wild eyes, he heard the baby cry just outside the window.

"Stay away from me!" Harry yelled.

Lucius held his hands out, palms up. "I have no intention of harming you." He meant it. But something about the way Harry breathed out is fear in rushed breaths, through clinched teeth, made Lucius want to treat him like the victim he was behaving as. He did want to see if Harry had truly recovered from that night. He wanted to see if Harry had the equipment necessary to father a child. There would be no better time to affirm that information. He had to do it while Harry's fear dominated within him. If it wasn't for the trauma Lucius had inflicted on Harry, it would not've have been possible to do what he did next.

Harry fought, but he fought through hysterics. Lucius could hardly believe this was a functioning wizard who counseled other adolescents. His calm control took over as he backed Harry against the sill and quickly undid his jeans. True to his word, Lucius only looked, he did not attempt to engage Harry in any way. What he found, brought him relief. Harry appeared to be completely male.

The child was Draco's. Lucius was so relieved, he allowed Harry to collapse against him. The young man cried tears of irrational stress. Tears that belonged to that horrible night, and whatever demons still haunted him over it. It would've been pointless to say that he was sorry, because he was not. It was simply not in his breeding to regret his power. That didn't mean he wanted Harry to keep hurting. It just meant he couldn't undo what was already done.

The baby's cries told him of its position safely on the seat of a chair outside. The bathroom sat next to the kitchen, upon which a small patio attached. While deducing that none of them were in any immediate danger, Lucius allowed Harry to tear himself away. Harry's fighting hatred had no sooner returned, than Draco stood in the doorway. "What the fuck is going on?"

Draco had never hit his father before, never even thought about it. And he didn't then. But he did grab his wand and very sharply, asked him to leave. He escorted Lucius to the door this way. "What the fuck are you doing here anyway?"

"I just wanted to talk to you. I didn't come here to cause trouble."

The baby's cries echoed down the hall. "I don't have time to talk to you. Get the hell away from me, from us, and stay away."

"Draco, your mother and I are across the street. Please come talk to us tonight. Tell us about our grandchild. We miss you."

"Your grandchild? Is that what you think she is?" He moved forward, backing his father out the door.

Lucius dared to stop against the frame. He didn't believe Draco would hurt him without provocation. His son had used the Cruciatus on him, but that was from having seen the worst thing he'd ever seen his father do. Draco, he knew, still needed his approval. Draco, at heart, was a sweet child, even if he was too angry to show it at the moment. "Yes, Draco. Believe it or not, I've come to you, because I'm ready to accept her into my life. I don't care that Harry's her father, she's a very special child."

Draco looked mystified and outraged at the same time. "Yeah, she is. And you're not to have anything to do with her."

"Just be civilized, Draco. There's no reason why we can't sit down and talk. Voldemort is no longer -"

"Civilized?" Draco's wand shook as he drove it into the side of his father's throat. Lucius had to move or have it puncture him. "You want to have a civilized conversation? Ok, let's get this over with right now. Do you know how Harry survived that night? Once we got him out of there, I was too weak and useless to do anything. His friends got him to Snape. Snape couldn't undo the curse. We waited. We waited for him to bleed out. It never happened. Harry's body stayed female.

"Where I needed constant spells to keep me changed, Harry's body was holding the freaking half-assed spell done to him, on a whim. At first, we couldn't understand it. But when a week went by, then another, Snape knew. It took the rest of us time to figure it out. Harry wasn't dying and he wasn't changing back, because she needed to live."

Draco relished the comprehension on his father's face. "That's right. He was fucking pregnant and that's the only thing that saved his life. We were never going to fucking tell you. We were going to get as far away from you as possible. He did get really sick, and it was sticking by his side all those months that solidified our friendship. He needed me, and he let me help him. So don't tell me a goddamn thing about how you feel regarding your _grandchild_. That's your fucking daughter, and as long as I'm alive, you'll never have anything to do with her. Harry's and my life's goal is only to protect her from you. That's all I'm living for. So go back to your little house across the street, because by the time you set foot back on this property, Harry and I won't be here."

Draco had him backed far enough out the door, that he slammed it on Lucius's stricken expression.

True to his word, Draco and Harry packed and left during the night. Lucius had watched them go, and wasn't surprised at all to find their empty apartment in disarray with the remains of a hasty retreat. He walked around and stood in the empty rooms, just to imagine what life must've looked and sounded like with a newborn between the boys. His newborn.

He took some things, and kept one of the baby's blankets. It smelled of perfumed powder and baby spit-up. He bundled it under his cloak and took it with him. In time, he knew he would find the boys again. He would let them settle. He would not fight for custody, no court would give him custody. He would simply watch her grow from a distance and influence her life as much as he possibly could.

He and Narcissa were done raising children. But they had room in their life for such an extraordinary little witch. He would see that she attended the right schools and the right social events. He could still influence matters if he could not play as openly as he once did. And Narcissa, while she wasn't going to like the news initially, needed something to fill the loss of her son.

He looked again at the photo the Minister had given him. No, Narcissa was going to love their daughter. How could she not? She looked so much like Dra

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Please review! :-) This story is now a part of the _Unbearable_ series. Draco's is the first story. Masterpiece is the second, though the timeline precedes Draco. Conflicted is just a side piece in the same universe, not critical to the plot. _Where Did You Go_ is a one-shot in the same universe. And Harry (Tea with Severus) is the next and current one being written. Thanks to everyone who wanted more!

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Here's a great video. Credit to TinNo4i.

( watch?v=Ix57okDqm28&index=2&list=PLfP3By3wYC51azxPUJj71cS4eaHJOIsvS)


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